


A Dwarf is for Life not just for Christmas

by MusesatMidnight



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Adorable Baby Dwarves, Adorable Dwarves, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Romance, Baby Hobbits, Dwarves in the Shire, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Feels, Fix-It, Food, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Hobbits, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 20:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 88,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusesatMidnight/pseuds/MusesatMidnight
Summary: Bilbo returned to the Shire not the same Hobbit he once was. He's been back in the Shire for several months now and he Is struggling to settle back into the slow, gossip filled life. He has his routines but it all feels empty. And he won't even think about the nightmares...The Winter Festival is approaching, a time normally spent with families, and this year, more than ever, Bilbo feels the loneliness of the season. That is until he has unexpected company but will they stay for the season? Will Bilbo be alone once more?Fix-It/Canon Divergence





	1. An Unexpected Existence and Unexpected Company

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first every work on AO3 and I’m crossposting from Fanfiction.net. This was originally begun back before BoFA came out in 2014 so it was a way to cope with the feels I was having. Been a while since I updated it but I’m going to try and finish it before the end of 2018…. That may not happen. 
> 
> I’m sort of combining various periods of Christmas/Winter holiday traditions so please don’t rage about the various traditions/decorations/foods etc being mixed together. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Only disclaimer for the fic, I do not own the Hobbit in any shape or form! It belongs to Tolkien, Peter Jackson, New Line Cinemas etc etc. If I owned it I would not be writing fanfiction about it!

 

* * *

 

Bilbo Baggins was many things. He who walks unseen, Barrel-rider, Thief in the Shadows, Child of the Kindly West, Cluefinder, Luckwearer, The Spider Stinger and Mad Baggins. But what not everyone knew about Bilbo Baggins was that he was also a coward. Of course when the time came for Bilbo to prove his worth he had done so many times on the Quest to Erebor. He had faced down trolls, won riddles in the dark, thrown himself at an orc who would have taken the King Under the Mountain’s head, faced down a skinchanger, snuck around the Elf King’s halls and liberated the company, bandied words with Smaug the Magnificent and come out relatively unscathed, he’d stolen the Arkenstone from the King Under the Mountain and brought Allies to fight against the orcs and goblins and he had run through the battlefield invisible and slaughtered orcs who had sought to do his dear friends harm.

None of this had left Bilbo unscathed however and no sooner than the Hobbit saw the end of the battle and briefly spoke with his beloved Dwarves than he had turned tail and run back to the West. The horror’s that he had seen haunted his dreams. “One day I’ll remember.” He had said to Gandalf. “I’ll remember everything that happened. The good, the bad. Those who survived. And those that did not.”

Bilbo Baggins remembered every moment of his life since he had returned to the Shire. It was as if his mind did not forgive him for leaving so much unsaid and so much forgotten. He saw Azog raising his mace against the King Under the Mountain. He saw Fili and Kili, Princes of Erebor battling together against Bolg, the brutal and cruel spawn of Azog. He saw Beorn, the skinchanger, covered with wounds and arrows and spears rising out of his flanks in macabre and torturous points. Thranduil’s face twisted and burnt as he focussed so intently on his enemies that the spell masking his disfigurement fell away and a splatter of black orc blood arced across the wounds and over his eye. Legolas and Tauriel battling side by side, both so young by elf standards, not wearying against their never-ending foe but both heavy with the weight of the battle and its outcome. Bard whose children had screamed and cried when Smaug rained fire upon their town, fighting like a madman to protect his children and stop the swell of orcs from reaching the place where the survivors of Lake Town were sheltered.

He remembered the good things too, his friendship with the Dwarves, the kindness shown to him by Bard, Legolas and Tauriel. The interest and fondness Beorn bestowed upon the Halfling so far from home. The beauty of Erebor as it stood alone against the sky, strong, proud and beautiful. The wonder of Rivendell and the magic that throbbed and thrummed within the Hidden Valley. The freedom of soaring through the air on the backs of the Eagles of Manwe (Once he had gotten over his terror of not being on the ground).

Bilbo had not chosen to remember or recover with his friends though. Instead of staying in the East and recovering, healing with his friends (family) Bilbo had fled. Gone back to that which had at one time given him great comfort. His mother’s doilies and West Farthing China. The smial that his father had created so that his wander-lusting mother would wish to remain at home. The friendly calls of Hamfast Gamgee, his gardener who was always open and available for a chat about plants and the like. Even to the visits from Lobelia Sackville-Baggins who had been most outraged and upset at Bilbo’s safe and unexpected return.

It wasn’t enough however and Bilbo had been back in the Shire for nine months, having spent three months approximately in Rivendell, exploring Elrond’s home, his library and speaking with the Elf Lord of many things. Lord Elrond had sometimes tried to talk to Bilbo about the events that occurred on Bilbo’s adventure but the Hobbit had always evaded the questions or answered with short and brief answers. He couldn’t face talking about it when it was so raw and had only happened a few short months ago.

Now however it was the last month of the year. A festive time for Hobbits to be sure. The winter festival was shaping up to be one of the most extravagant seen in the Shire for several years. A thin blanket of snow had already covered the landscape, not like the thick and treacherous snow that had made the Shire so dangerous back in the Fell Winter when the Brandywine had frozen over. This was a pleasant snowfall. Just deep enough that fauntlings were making snow-Hobbits and having snowball fights without using up enough snow to show the frozen ground beneath.

Bilbo woke abruptly only a few days before Yule and cried out in horror and panic. His shout rang around his empty smial, down the lonely corridors that were the only things that heard his heartbroken sobs that followed the shout.

Bilbo spent a few moments curled up in his bed, allowing his sorrow to overwhelm him before he got out of bed, his toes curling up slightly at the cold floor. The fire had burnt out during the night allowing the bitter cold of the night to sneak into the room and consume the warmth. He spent a few minutes re-building the fire and making sure it was burning nicely before moving through the rooms re-lighting the fires in the rooms he used most often, his kitchen, study, living room and bathroom.

“Need more wood.” He muttered absently to himself as he put his kettle of water over the fire. A nice comforting cup of tea, maybe a hint of chamomile to ease his nerves and his weary body. Nights of interrupted sleep were not pleasant on the body and sometimes, especially on particularly chilly days, Bilbo felt as if the ice was creeping into his soul and heart.

He shook his head to try and shake off the depressing thoughts and bustled over to his well-stocked pantry.  He had been getting used to having seven meals a day but since his journey where food had sometimes been scarce Bilbo found that whilst he could eat seven times a day not every meal was as big as the others.

Eggs, bacon, tomatoes and some potatoes all went into a frying pan on his stove and soon Bilbo was tucking into a warm breakfast and a steaming cup of tea. As he ate Bilbo began to make a list in his head of things he needed to do for the winter festival.

It was expected for Hobbits to decorate their homes for the duration of the winter festival, sprigs of holly, ivy, mistletoe, pine and other greenery with berries and winter flowers in garlands and wreathes around the home. Some of the more well to do Hobbits sometimes had a small fir tree as well. Of course Bilbo would be expected to have such a tree and with lavish decorations so that any of his relatives and friends who came to visit would be able to admire it and then later gossip to others about Bilbo’s wealth and respectable decorations for the winter festival. He would also need to stock up on fruits, nuts, spices and other exotics in order to make some of the winter festival goodies. Rich, spiced fruit cakes, moist gingerbread covered in caramelised nuts, sugar mice for the fauntlings who came for stories, mince pies and of course marzipan creatures and objects. Then there was the food necessary for the two most important days of winter festival: the Eve before Yule and then Yule itself. Fish and other seafood on Yule Eve and then a sumptuous feast on Yule itself.

When Bilbo’s parents had been alive the Yule meal had always been a large affair with a hog’s head as the centrepiece, other meat laden dishes, roasted vegetables and pies and meat cakes. The sweets were also heavily spiced and rich, particularly when Bilbo had gotten older as Belladonna had always snuck in a few splashes of the best brandy into the pudding. Bilbo could still taste the thick cream that had been poured over the pudding and his nose twitched as if his mother was baking yule cakes and spiced puddings right there in the kitchen with him.

He found himself opening his mouth and calling for her as if expecting her to answer.

“Mother?”

The sound seemed flat and empty in the kitchen and Bilbo tutted.

“What were you thinking? It’s not as if she’s going to answer back from the grave.” He chuckled at his own foolishness before going about his day.

First task was to go down and choose his Yule tree and arrange for it to be delivered to Bag End later that day. After that, well after lunch maybe, Bilbo would go walking in the woods and gather up the plants necessary for his Yule garlands. He would take his little cart with him and fill it to the brim with winter plants. Bilbo knew of a perfect spot where he would find oak mistletoe, not much of it grew in the shire, whereas the other variety was abundant on the many apple trees in the Shire.

“Maybe not mistletoe. It’s not like there’s anyone who I want to kiss. Certainly none of my relatives.” Bilbo mumbled and then bustled off to get ready for the day.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bilbo watched in fascination as his breath curled up in the air in trails of dragon-like smoke. It was so cold that his breath was visible in plumes of mist and his nose was turning pink from the cold. Bilbo rubbed his gloved hands together against the chill of the air. The soft fur-lined mittens were warm on his hands and he rubbed his ears hoping to relieve some of the cold that had settled into the points of his ears.

He was glad he had dug out his winter boots. Normally Hobbits hated the idea of footwear but snow was one of the few things that could affect a Hobbit’s feet in a bad way. Particularly sharp rocks and stones were not forgiving on their feet but in the Shire there were few areas where that was an issue. Snow however was detrimental to their feet. The cold would sink in and numb a Hobbit’s toes and sometimes if they stayed out for too long the toes would be unsalvageable, frostnip would settle in and then turn to frostbite and the toes would sometimes turn black and have to be removed.

No Hobbit would dare go out in public with damaged feet and so in snowy times boots were a necessary evil. Bilbo’s were of the finest quality. Soft leather, lined with fur that sank between his toes and tickled his ankles. He could almost forget his feet were covered.

He strolled down Bag Lane in the low light of the morning, that special and magical winter feeling descending over Hobbiton. As he passed the Gamgee’s smial he noticed that Hamfast was out in his garden with little Samwise, both bundled up in winter coats with bright red scarfs wrapped around their necks.

“Good morning Hamfast, Master Samwise.” Bilbo called, a cheery smile forced on his face.

Hamfast looked up from where he was mending the fence post that had rotted through and broken under the weight of the snow. Samwise squeaked and dived behind his father, almost dropping the hammer that he had been holding for his father on his booted toes.

“Aye Master Baggins. It’s a fine morning to be sure. Pleasant day to be had.” Hamfast straightened up and nodded to Bilbo. “You off to market Mr Bilbo?”

“Yes. Going to choose my Yule tree and arrange for it to be delivered later this afternoon.” A sudden thought occurred to Bilbo and he grinned excitedly before nervously licking his lips. “I was wondering if you and your family would like to come help me decorate this year? Young Master Samwise could advise me on which plants should go where and your youngest ones could have some of the sweets I’ll be making later this morning?”

Hamfast scratched his head pleased at the invitation but also reluctant to take up the offer. “I don’t know Mr Bilbo. The likes of us treading around your home, I can’t guarantee that Bag End would survive my brood.”

“Oh please Dad! Mr Bilbo always has the nicest plants at Yule! I want to see his oak mistletoe, and his yule tree! Mr Frodo said it has amazing decorations! Please Dad!” Samwise popped out from behind his father’s legs and looked up with wide-eyes that were almost brimming with tears.

Bilbo laughed loudly and shook his head.

“I don’t think I could say no to those eyes Gaffer!”

Hamfast chuckled and rubbed his hand on Sam’s head, his calloused fingers catching the blond and brown curls on his roughened skin. Sam grinned and whooped before diving into the house shouting the news to his siblings and his mother.

“Thank you Master Baggins. It’ll be a right treat for the young’uns. You’ve always been so kind to us and the children always love your stories. I’ll make sure the faunts are on their best behaviour.”

“No need to worry so Gaffer. Twelve Dwarves and a Wizard are far more trouble than your pleasant offspring. At least I know they won’t destroy my plumbing! That bathroom hasn’t been the same since!”

“Aye Mr Bilbo. I imagine that Dwarves are not the most well-mannered of folk, especially when it comes to food. Your pantry was bare when I went round and checked, I haven’t seen such a sorry sight since my tomatoes were destroyed by those pesky tomato worms!”

“A sad state of affairs indeed.” Bilbo chuckled before glancing up at the sky. “I’d best be off to the market Gaffer, must get the best tree or else Lobelia will be spreading rumours of my miserliness all the way to Bree!”

“I’ll see you later Master Baggins.”

“Hmm, come around tea time, I’ll have baked a few treats, brought in my plants and found the decorations by then so everything will be ready for your family to come and help me decorate.”

Hamfast nodded and bowed slightly to Bilbo before turning his attention back to the fence post. Bilbo continued on his way down to the market, the thought of having company for even a brief period chasing away the memories and the sorrow that throbbed continuously in his heart and mind.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bilbo grimaced as Lobelia’s shrill voice rang through the market. Gossip was rife today in the market. Lots of stories of strangers wandering the Shire. For the past few months there had been Dwarf caravans passing through the Shire, the Dwarves of Ered Luin who had been forced from Erebor were returning to their homeland. Occasionally some Dwarf traders would set up shop in the market in front of the Green Dragon and whilst their wares were always wonderful the Dwarves were not always so well accepted. Bilbo tried to avoid market when he knew there were going to be Dwarves around and had succeeded for the most part.

Bilbo stood on tiptoe and peered over a particularly rotund Hobbit only to see Lobelia shaking her parasol and going red in the face as she shouted at a poor Dwarfling who had bumped into her with sticky fingers and covered her dress in jammy hand prints. To be honest Bilbo thought it an improvement to the frankly alarming shade of salmon that Lobelia was wearing.

All the inhabitants of Hobbiton were watching with a mixture of glee and horror as Lobelia screeched and squawked at the Dwarfling who was cowering and crying before the angry female Hobbit. Bilbo’s temper rose and he strode through the crowd, shoving Hobbits aside until he was standing next to the Dwarfling.

“Enough Lobelia. It was an accident!” Bilbo snapped and he moved to stand slightly in front of the Dwarfling. Lobelia was stunned into silence for a brief moment before her mouth opened and she continued her ranting this time directing her cruel words at Bilbo.

Bilbo Baggins had faced down Smaug, exchanged riddles with Gollum and sung songs to spiders in Mirkwood. Lobelia was nothing to those foes. Mid-way through her speech Bilbo had the audacity to yawn and Lobelia spluttered and fumed as Bilbo turned his attention to the Dwarfling who had grabbed his trouser leg and placed sticky prints all over Bilbo’s trousers.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Bilbo said cheerfully and guided the Dwarfling away from the crowds, ignoring Lobelia and her raving. Glancing back Bilbo saw that some of the other Hobbits, having seen the Head of the Baggins family ignore her, had chosen to tell her off and shoo her away from the market. The last Bilbo saw of Lobelia was her parasol disappearing round past the fish stall.

Shaking his head in despair Bilbo turned his attention to the Dwarfling’s sticky hands. Scooping up snow the Hobbit rubbed the snow over the small but strong hands, washing away the jam and the red stains that attempted to linger. As soon as the Dwarfling’s hands were clean Bilbo pulled out his handkerchief from his coat pocket and rubbed them dry. Bilbo had no idea how susceptible Dwarves were to colds, especially Dwarf children but he wasn’t about to take any risks.

“Now, what’s your name little one?” Bilbo asked the Dwarfling and looked him over searching for any sign of a family name.

“Sibit.” The Dwarfling said and Bilbo realised that there was a chance this Dwarfling was a girl. Bright ginger hair (that looked so much like Bombur’s that it sent a pang through Bilbo’s heart) cascaded down Sibit’s back and she had bright green eyes and a small button nose, quite unlike any Dwarf nose Bilbo had seen before.

“Do you know where your parents are Sibit?” Bilbo said and held out his hand to the Dwarfling. Sibit looked at the hand with suspicion before reaching up slightly and taking hold. Sibit was quite small for a Dwarf and Bilbo reckoned she or he wasn’t much older than Frodo in Dwarf equivalent ages. Still a fauntling rather than a tween.

“Mama’s minding the stall. Papa’s off with his friends.” Sibit said and then began tugging Bilbo towards a stand towards the centre of the market, covered in glass bead necklaces, bracelets and other trinkets.

A round Dwarf was manning the stall, Sibit’s mother Bilbo presumed, and when she heard the patter of Dwarven boots she spun round and scooped up Sibit.

“Thank you Master Hobbit! I can’t keep an eye on all my young ones! Barely set up stall and they were off exploring and getting into mischief. I can’t thank you enough.” The Dwarrow said and bowed to Bilbo whilst balancing Sibit on her hip. A golden beard was carefully braided and looped in two rings and up into her long hair. Tiny bells had been woven into her hair and they rang as she bowed creating a pretty tinkling noise. Sibit immediately became distracted and buried her hands in her mother’s beard, tapping the bells to make them ring.

“It was no trouble at all. I’m afraid Sibit had a run in with one of my least pleasant relatives. I couldn’t stand by and watch a Dwarfling be yelled at.”

The Dwarrow bowed once more before nuzzling Sibit’s red hair with the tip of her button nose. Whilst Sibit hadn’t inherited her mother’s colouring she had gained the same green eyes and pert nose.

“May I ask your name?” The Dwarrow said and rummaged through the wares on her table sorting them and displaying them to sell.

“Bilbo Baggins at your service.” Bilbo bowed and in doing so missed the wide-eyed look the Dwarrow gave him.

“And you Mistress Dwarf?” Bilbo smiled pleasantly and looked over her wares with a keen eye.

It was not often Dwarves sold glass, they preferred metal and leather jewellery but occasionally the odd glass item appeared. Bilbo whistled at a glass dragon that sat on the edge of the stall. It was a large glass ornament, clear for the majority of its shape but had been painted with gold dust and red paint. Its neck was outstretched and its mouth open wide with orange and gold flames bursting from its spread jaws.  Gold dusted the spine and wings and the tail was tipped with a blood red paint that shone brightly despite the wintery sun. Bilbo was reminded almost fondly of Smaug and with careful hands he picked up the glass dragon and inspected it.

“I am Sibreg, Daughter of Terreg, at your service.” The Dwarrow said and watched Bilbo with a sharp look. Bilbo assumed the look was because of his handling the glass dragon and he carefully placed it down before reaching into his pocket and bringing out his coin purse.

“How much for the glass dragon Mistress Sibreg?”

Sibreg gave Bilbo a price that was far less than Bilbo had expected and he protested loudly at her asking so little.

“I owe you Master Baggins. As do all Dwarves of Erebor. You helped reclaim my home from Smaug and you created the alliance that fought against the orcs and goblins who came for Erebor. It is I who cannot ask much of you.”

Bilbo spluttered and flushed as other Dwarves whose stalls were nearby began whispering (rather loudly, Dwarves were never brilliant at whispering, except for Nori but Bilbo didn’t want to think about Nori).

Bilbo handed over the requested coins with some embarrassment and then carefully cradled the wrapped glass dragon to his touch.

“Thank you Mistress Sibreg.” Bilbo bowed and then without another glance backward scurried away from the Dwarrow and her fellows who all watched Bilbo with distinct interest.

“Mama.” Sibit said once Bilbo was out of sight and earshot.

“Yes darling?” Sibreg said distractedly. The Dwarfling tugged hard on her mother’s golden hair and growled when her mother continued to stare after Bilbo Baggins.

“Is that Papa’s Master Baggins? The one who spoke to the Calamity Smaug?” Sibrit pulled harder and wriggled in her mother’s grasp finally managing to draw her attention back to her child.

“I believe it was. We shall tell Papa when we see him.” Sibreg turned her attention to the sudden swarm of Hobbits who had until now been avoiding the Dwarven stalls for some unfathomable reason. Questions about her work flooded the Dwarrow with the occasional attempt at sly questions about Bilbo Baggins but Sibreg had not been a trader and craftswomen for more than a hundred years without learning to evade and avoid answering questions she had no care to answer.

Some of the Hobbits who visited her stall left empty-handed but a few left with no gossip but some delightful glass creations. Sibit and Sibreg felt however they had gotten the better end of the bargain as they now had news of Bilbo Baggins, Hero of Erebor.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bilbo hummed and sang to himself as he pulled a tray of spiced biscuits from the oven and put in a tin with a gingerbread loaf ready to bake. His smial was rather messy at the present time. His living room furniture had been shifted around in order to put his Yule Tree up near the window and it had been put in a heavy pot with sand in it so that the fir tree wouldn’t tip over. Trying to put a tree back up on your own when you are just a small Hobbit is quite difficult as Bilbo knew from previous experience when the first Winter Festival after his parent’s death he hadn’t put enough weight in the tree’s pot and spent the majority of his first day of the holiday pushing the tree back up and filling the pot with rocks from his garden.

The entranceway to his smial was full to the brim with sprigs of ivy, holly, mistletoe and a few branches of evergreens and silver pines. Some herbs that grew in his garden were resilient in the cold and so Bilbo had crouched down brushing snow off plants and cutting off sprigs of rosemary, bay and laurel that were sweetly scenting his entrance way. Bilbo had also found some pansies that had escaped the snow and plucked them. Throughout Bag End there were tiny posies in little jars or vases of deep blue pansies (blue like the King Under the Mountain’s eyes, like Fili and Kili, lying so still). Bilbo hadn’t been able to put any of the flowers in his room. Too many memories came flooding back at the sight of the various blue flowers (pansies mottled and shaded, almost white and glowing like that thrice-damned Arkenstone).

Bilbo had baked several sweet treats for the Gamgee fauntling’s and had also pulled out the box with his tree decorations. There were pinecones, ribbons, bells, wooden figurines of animals and Hobbits being merry, tiny glass ornaments that sparkled in the candlelight and the flicker of the fire.

The glass dragon that Bilbo had bought from Sibreg, tiny Smaug as Bilbo had taken to calling it had been carefully hung in the round window so that it would catch the light throughout the day from sunrise until the last few rays disappeared behind the rolling hills of the Shire.

It was almost tea time and Bilbo hurried to put the kettle on the fire and set out his third best china set (no point using best china where fauntlings are concerned, there were always accidents and Bilbo believed he had a complete set of china made of mis-matched pieces that came from different sets that had survived the handling of many faunts) along with some sweet cakes, spicy treats and a few biscuits.

There was a tentative knock at his front door and Bilbo straightened his waistcoat, peered into the mirror on the wall in the hall and grimaced at his red-rimmed eyes. Crying never looked attractive on anyone Bilbo thought, apart from possibly on newly-wedded Hobbit lasses and Bilbo for certain knew he looked pathetic and snotty when he cried. He pinched his cheeks as he trotted down the corridor to the front door, hoping to brighten his pale cheeks up somewhat.

He swung the door open and grinned happily at the sight of Hamfast and Bell Gamgee and their six children.

“Afternoon Mr Bilbo!” Hamfast said cheerily and wiped his boots off on the mat inside the door. His children followed after him, each copying their Dad in wiping the snow from their boots and then removing gloves, scarves, hats and coats and hanging them up on the pegs of the coat rack slightly further in the hobbit hole.

Bell Gamgee came in last with their youngest, Marigold, in her arms. Marigold was sucking on her thumb and had her other hand wrapped around her mother’s neck whilst she peered through Bilbo’s hobbit hole with a keen curiosity. Marigold was only three years old and although she had been in Bag End a couple of times before she had only just reached the age where she had begun to recall and memorise places. Of course Bag End smelt and looked slightly different as it was far messier than it had been before Bilbo went on his Adventure and the entranceway was covered in plants.

“Lovely to see you Bell.” Bilbo said and pressed a soft kiss to Bell’s ruddy cheek. Bell Gamgee nee Goodchild was a pretty Hobbit lass with golden hair that her children had inherited rather than her husband’s brown locks and she had a light dusting of freckles over her cheeks and nose. Bell controlled her brood as well as any general and her children rarely disobeyed her but Bilbo had never met a sweeter soul with a sharp tongue. Few of the Hobbit women dared get on Bell’s bad side as her sharp tongue and keen wit could reduce a grown male Hobbit to a whimpering mess.

Indeed it was Bell Gamgee who had quelled the gossip-mongering that had taken place after Bilbo’s return. Hobbiton had been rife with rumour, speculation and wild stories that seemed to grow and grow with each telling and many of them had not been kind to Bilbo. Bell would not stand for any Hobbit disrespecting Bilbo who always had time for her and her family and would often spend time in their house and entertained her faunts when she needed to get work done. Now the Hobbits of Hobbiton only called Bilbo ‘Mad Baggins’ when they were certain Bell Gamgee couldn’t hear them. Bell also had a wicked hand with a ladle and had rapped more than one Hobbit or fauntling over the head or on the back of the hand with the metal spoon.

“And you Mr Bilbo. You should come down more often. The children love your stories and I’d be glad of the company.”

Bilbo chuckled and looked sheepish. Bell was one of the few people Bilbo let scold him and he felt the wave of love and affection she and her family felt for him wash over him, briefly chasing away the bad memories and the sorrow.

“Come on then. Tea should be ready and I have lots of cakes and sweets for you all to try. Then we can get on with decorating.”

Bilbo led the way through Bag End to the living room and smiled happily at the awed sounds the fauntlings made at the sight of the large Yule Tree. It was a splendid tree. Tall, almost brushing the ceiling of Bag End and wide too (the width of Bombur almost twice) it was a deep, emerald green with thick branches and plenty of space for decorations.

To Bilbo’s delight the children also noticed tiny Smaug and peered up at the glass dragon that was still sparkling in the fading light. Hamson, Halfred, Daisy and May all sat and began going through the box of decorations that Bilbo had put out near the tree whilst Samwise had brought a few sprigs of the plants from the hallway with him and was beginning to wind and weave them together round a wooden circle that his father had seemingly produced from nowhere.

“Need a hand Mr Bilbo?” Hamfast asked and wiped his already clean hands down on his trousers. Bilbo smiled affectionately and led the other Hobbit to the kitchen. Together the older Hobbits made two pots of tea and carried heavily laden trays into the living room and served tea and milk for the fauntlings. Bell had sat down with Marigold in her lap and the little faunt was staring at tiny Smaug with her thumb still in her mouth.

“Where did you get the dragon Mr Bilbo?” Bell asked. She, like her daughter was intrigued by the ornament but for a different reason. Occasionally Bilbo fell asleep when he was minding her faunts and she couldn’t help but notice his disturbed sleep and the many names he would call or murmur. “Dragon!” had been a word that occurred frequently and Bell wondered what Bilbo truly had seen and done on his travels.

“From one of the Dwarf stalls in the market this morning.” Bilbo said briefly before handing Bell a cup of tea and a biscuit. Bell and Hamfast both watched Bilbo with keen eyes and shared a knowing glance before beginning to chat about various unimportant and trivial things.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bilbo leaned back in his chair and cradled a cup of tea in his hands. The faunts had, had a wonderful time decorating the Yule tree and Bilbo thought it looked spectacular, far nicer than if he had decorated it on his own. Sprigs of various plants had been hung over doorways, picture frames and over windows and turned into garlands. Samwise and Hamfast had made a wreath too and it now hung proudly outside on the little green door at the front of Bag End.

Bell had drifted off to sleep at some point during the afternoon and little Marigold had sat on the floor playing with some toys that Bilbo had kept from his childhood. The other fauntlings had scampered off to run around the hallways of Bag End. Winter was not a good time for fauntlings, the snow forcing them to stay inside because of their more sensitive and delicate bodies so energy quickly pent up and built up.

Hamfast was whittling away at a chunk of wood, carving something or other that had yet to take a recognisable form. All of a sudden Bilbo heard a crash and he sat forward in his chair, placing his teacup on the little table to the side of his chair, ready to leap up and into action. Hamfast was not unaware of the hyper-aware state of his employer, little noises set Bilbo off; even the noises of fauntling’s crying was enough to send Bilbo into some sort of warrior state. The older Hobbit’s eyes sharpened and his face grew stern and resolved, quite un-hobbitlike.

There was a pattering of bare feet and Bilbo relaxed slightly until the faunts came tumbling into the living room Hamson and Halfred tugging at something between them and yelling at each other. So intent were the two older brothers on taking the item from the other, that they failed to notice little Marigold sat before the fire and they tumbled into her, knocking the faunt over and forcing her towards the fire.

Bilbo leapt to his feet with a shout as the tiny Hobbit lass slid into the fire. Her gold locks caught fire and Bilbo quickly picked her up, pulling her from the flames reach and smothered the flames eating her golden hair with his bare hands. He barely noticed the smell of singed flesh that rose up from his hands, so intent on checking Marigold over to make sure she wasn’t hurt anywhere else.

Bell had awoken at Bilbo’s cry and was watching with an open mouth as Bilbo pulled his burnt hands away from Marigold’s singed and burnt hair.

“Bilbo!” Bell cried at the state of the older Hobbit’s hands. Bright red blisters had already formed and his hands seemed to be a deep red colour already. She sank down onto the rug next to Marigold who was crying and pulled Bilbo’s hands to her to look at them. Marigold continued wailing loudly in fright and upset and Samwise who had been trailing after his rambunctious siblings stepped forward and pulled her out of the way, cuddling his little sister to him.

“There, there little sun. You’re alright. Only a little singed but we’ll cut off those nasty bits and you’ll be as golden as you were before. Mr Bilbo saved you from the fire didn’t he? Like a knight in the tales of old. You’ll be alright little sun.” Samwise crooned and Daisy and May sank down and cuddled their younger siblings. They too had been frightened by the events and needed to give and receive comfort by hugging their siblings. Hamson and Halfred were stood next to Bilbo with teary eyes and pale faces, their bottom lips trembling at the sight of poor Mr Bilbo’s hands.

“Here’s some snow.” Hamfast said and produced a big cooking bowl that he had retrieved from the kitchen and run outside with to gather a large amount of snow. Bell plunged Bilbo’s hands into the icy cold bowl instantly and gasped at the coolness that settled into her own flesh almost immediately. Bilbo however didn’t make a sound.

“Bilbo?” Bell said tentatively and peered into his eyes. Bilbo stared back at her with a rueful smile.

“I’m alright Bell, Hamfast. Doesn’t burn half as much as dragon fire.” Bilbo said almost laughingly.

“We’re so sorry Master Bilbo!” Hamson and Halfred cried and the tears that had been brimming spilt over.

“It’s quite alright boys.” Bilbo smiled at them and his hands twitched in the snow as if he wanted to pull them from the cold and embrace the two distraught fauntlings. “I’m just glad Marigold wasn’t hurt. Anyway, what were you bringing to me with such excitement?”

The two boys pulled out the object that they had been tussling over and Bilbo let out a pained gasp at the sight of his mithril shirt glimmering in the light of the fire and the sparkling light of tiny Smaug.

“We wanted to ask you about this shiny shirt Mr Bilbo.” Hamson said meekly. All the other faunts looked up too at the sight of the shiny shirt and even little Marigold stopped crying and reached out with both hands to pull the edge of the mithril to her and inspect it with her tiny fingers, her brush with fire all but forgotten at the sight of the sparkling shirt.

“That, my boys, is a memento of my adventure. A mithril shirt. Given to me by a Dwarven King.” Bilbo said and then to Bell and Hamfast’s amazement he asked the faunts if they would like to hear about Bilbo’s Adventure. They had spent months trying to find out anything about Mr Baggins’ trip but it seemed a brush with fire had loosened the iron grip he had, had on his tale.

The faunts settled down in a semi-circle before Bilbo, Marigold sitting in the middle playing with the mithril shirt. Hamfast settled back into an armchair ready to go and get anything needed to treat Bilbo’s burns.

Whilst Bilbo spoke Bell kept an eye on his hands and after a while she pulled his hands from the melting snow and inspected them. The burns weren’t too bad. She left the living room and padded across to the pantry, all the while keeping an ear on the story. She also visited Bilbo’s bathroom on the way back and returned to the living room with a jar of honey. Listening to Bilbo’s story she spread the thick, golden honey on the bandages that she had retrieved from Bilbo’s bathroom and then began to lay them on his burnt palms before covering the honey soaked scraps with clean and honey free bandages, tying them onto his hands securely. The only sign Bilbo gave of any discomfort was a slight tensing of his muscles but he did not falter in his story at all.

It took him an hour or so to tell the condensed and fauntling friendly version of his adventures and by the time he had finished Marigold and Samwise had fallen asleep but the other faunts had hung onto his every word as had their parents.

“Bilbo.” Bell said softly as she and Hamfast had picked up on the true relationship between their dear Hobbit and the King Under the Mountain and the heartbreak that had crept into his voice when he spoke of some of his friends.

“There you go. Now you all know the tale of Mad Baggins.” Bilbo smiled bitterly before clambering clumsily to his feet. The clock over the mantelpiece showed it to be nearing 6:30pm. “You had best be off home, faunts to feed and all that.”

“Please Bilbo, don’t do that.” Bell said softly and placed a hand on his arm. “Don’t shut us out.”

“I’m trying not to Bell. But I haven’t told any of that to anyone. Not since it happened. I just need some time to myself to think it all through and just be alone for a while.”

“Alright Mr Bilbo. We’ll take the young ones home now and Bell can come up later to change your bandages for the night.” Hamfast took control and gathered his brood, picking up Marigold who still had her singed hair and Samwise who was clutching a lone blue pansy that had somehow fallen under the table earlier in the day and been missed by Bilbo (it was so damn blue! He hated it! Blue everywhere but at the same time it made him happy and reminded him of memories that he tried to bury). The other faunts gathered around their father and followed the older Hobbit out into the hallway, putting on their winter garments and boots.

“I’ll come by after Supper.” Bell said softly. “A few honey bandages should take the worst of it and after that we can go to lavender oil. You should be right as rain in a few days.”

“Thank you Bell.” Bilbo murmured and he sank into his armchair, already lost in thought as he gazed at tiny Smaug no longer shining with the light of the sun as it had long since set.

The Hobbit lady left Bag End after her unruly family feeling great sorrow and grief for Bilbo. So intent was she on getting down to Bagshot Row that she failed to hear the crunching of heavy booted feet settling deep in the snow, nor the clanking of armour and the rumbling voices of larger beings.

Bilbo stared absently at the Yule Tree and his decorated smial. It was so quiet. So still. So lonely. So empty. With a cry of rage Bibo swept a pile of books from a table and they thudded to the floor and hit the wall as Bibo yelped in pain as his bandaged hands throbbed from the violent action. He cursed and swore and bit his lip pretending the tears that trickled down were from the pain in his hands and not from his heart.

A loud knock came from his front door and Bilbo considered ignoring it for a moment but then the knock came again.

“Curse it!” The Hobbit said and dashed the tears angrily away from his cheeks with the backs of his bandaged hands. Another knock came as he entered the hallway to his front door and Bilbo sped up his feet slapping the floor loudly.

He grasped the handle gingerly with his bandaged fingers and lifted the latch and tugged the door open. Having his hands all bandaged up and throbbing slightly as if fire was lurking under his skin Bilbo wasn’t quite in control of his strength and he pulled the door wide open.

“Whoops.” He muttered and stepped back to allow the door to swing open before he looked up at the visitor on his doorstep.

“Bilbo Baggins.” The voice that haunted his dreams stroked each syllable, each moment of his name as the owner seemingly stood before him.

“It cannot be.” Bilbo whispered and his face paled as his eyes drifted over the assembly gathered before his front door. They were all standing still and peering at him with an almost desperate look in their eyes. Balin stood near the front of the group and he furrowed his brow as he looked at the trembling Hobbit.

“I assure you it is.” Balin said. “We, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield have come to speak with you Master Baggins.”

Bilbo chuckled weakly and looked at the Dwarves gathered on his doorstep. They were all as he remembered them. Bofur with his silly hat and moustache, Bombur seemingly even larger than last time he had arrived at Bag End. Dori with his immaculate braids, Ori still clad in his knitted garments but with more braids and a longer beard. Bifur with the axe in his forehead pulling at the ivy trailing down by the front door, Oin standing near the back of the group a new ear trumpet pointed in Bilbo’s direction so as to hear everything going on (Bilbo absentmindedly noticed that this ear trumpet was made of mithril), Dwalin with a few new scars and tattoos visible on his skin but still wearing that grumpy scowl, Balin with his formal clothing and grandfatherly manner. Fili so bright and golden and Kili grinning widely and bouncing on the balls of his feet as if wishing to lunge forward and hug Bilbo. And then there was him.

King Under the Mountain, High King of the Seven Dwarf Kingdoms. Lord of Silver Fountains. King of Durin’s folk. Oakenshield.

“Thorin.” Bilbo breathed and his eyes roved over the King, taking in the new silver lines in his dark mane of hair, the slightly longer beard, Orcrist strapped to his back, a luxurious fur coat and a desperately hopeful and longing look in those blue eyes the same colour as the pansies that Bilbo wouldn’t, couldn’t put in his bedroom.

“Aye Burglar. I have missed you Bilbo.” Thorin rumbled, his voice caressing Bilbo’s name and trembling slightly, not like the other times the King had said his name.

“You cannot be here. I must be dreaming. Yes, dreaming.” Bilbo said in a high-pitched and wavering voice.

“You are not dreaming Bilbo Baggins. We are here.” Thorin said his brow furrowing as he noticed the swaying of Bilbo’s body as he stood next to the front door. The Dwarf King also noticed how thin Bilbo seemed to be, not the portly Hobbit who had left from this very same smial well over a year ago.

“Oh.” Bilbo stammered out weakly and his tongue darted out to lick his suddenly dry lips. “Well, I suppose you had better come in.”

Before Bilbo could step aside to let the Company in his vision blurred and he felt his breath leave his body and his body tumbled forward.

“Bilbo!” Thorin shouted and lunged to catch the Hobbit before he could hit the floor. The last Bilbo heard was Thorin calling for Oin and the smell of the King Under the Mountain filled his nose as Thorin cradled the small Hobbit to his chest…

* * *

 


	2. The Company of Thorin Oakenshield vs. Bell Gamgee

The Hobbit: A Dwarf is for Life not Just for Christmas

Chapter 2  
The Company of Thorin Oakenshield vs. Bell Gamgee

* * *

 

_It was cold. Cold and dark and lonely. He could feel the blisters on his feet protesting with every step. The fire still raged under his skin, pulsing and throbbing as if his skin was still alight. Against the cold darkness his burnt feet were like small flames flickering at the end of a candle nothing like the great dragon fire that had caused the burns. Smaug’s fire had filled the mountain, lit up the smallest spaces, penetrated deep tunnels, crevices long unexplored, glimmered off all the gold and treasure in the mountain and set Bilbo’s feet aflame._

_He couldn’t remember burning his hands though and they throbbed too. Not with the same intensity as the dragon fire burns but still they hurt too. Bilbo glanced around the dark chamber he had found himself in._

_“What are you doing here Burglar?” Thorin’s voice came from behind him, the open doorway holding no modicum of privacy as the wood had long since rotted away and crumbled to dust leaving only the stone behind._

_“Thorin.” Bilbo breathed and winced at the horrified look on the Dwarf King’s face as he saw the horrific burns on Bilbo’s hobbit-y feet._

_“Mahal!” He cursed and strode into the chamber, plucking Bilbo up and cradling the Hobbit to his chest like Bilbo weighed nothing. Bilbo would have protested once, when he was an entirely respectable Hobbit who could look after himself thank you very much, but at this time when Smaug was off doing goodness knows what and the Company was wandering around Erebor looking at the destruction Bilbo found he didn’t much care for respectability._

_A muted gasp sprang from Bilbo’s lips as Thorin accidentally knocked his feet against a wall as they travelled down a particularly narrow corridor._

_“Sorry!” Thorin yelped and shifted Bilbo so that his feet were tucked closer into the Dwarf’s body._

_“No need to worry so much Thorin, it was only a slight bump.” Bilbo chuckled weakly and buried his face into Thorin’s chest to hide the pain that flashed across his face. Bilbo couldn’t help but deeply inhale Thorin’s scent at this time. It was becoming familiar to him, particularly over the last few months of their journey, since Mirkwood really and Bilbo found the Dwarf’s scent soothed his troubled heart and pained body like nothing else could._

_“I would not harm you further my Hobbit. Especially since you received these wounds running around fighting a dragon following my stupid decisions and directions.” Thorin grumbled and nuzzled the top of Bilbo’s head with his chin slightly, his affections slightly muted as they entered the chamber the Company had chosen to set up base in._

_Bilbo chuckled and shook his head._

_“I would not have followed your orders if they had been completely stupid, reckless, driven, desperate they may have been but not stupid, My King.” Bilbo slipped in the affectionate moniker that only Bilbo used and glanced up in time to see Thorin’s blue eyes darken with love and lust and Bilbo squeaked slightly as Thorin tightened his grip around the Hobbit._

_“You, You, You!” Thorin spluttered but could not finish his sentence as Oin came bustling over and immediately began reprimanding Bilbo for walking around on his burnt feet. The healer led Thorin over to the area where they had set the blankets out in a cluster so as to conserve warmth in the cold mountain where they slept._

_Thorin sat and rather than putting Bilbo down on the floor next to him, he merely shifted the Hobbit so that Bilbo’s back lay against the Dwarf’s chest. Oin brought over his medicines and ‘ointments’ and began inspecting Bilbo’s feet the Hobbit struggling weakly and subconsciously at the prodding and touching that was necessary to heal his feet._

_“Be still my Hobbit.” Thorin grumbled in Bilbo’s ear. “You are a tricky little thing aren’t you? Teasing a King, your King, like that when you know I cannot lay a hand on you in front of the Company. Well two can play that game my Burglar.”_

_Thorin’s lips brushed and tickled the pointed tip of Bilbo’s ear as he spoke and Bilbo shivered as a shot of desire coursed through him. Oin thought the shiver was a result of Bilbo’s wounds and began to smother the burnt feet in ‘ointment’ having spent a long time cleaning the dirt and muck and dust that had gathered in Erebor from the Hobbit’s feet._

_Bilbo watched through lidded eyes as Oin wrapped bandages around his feet and smiled weakly when Oin commanded Bilbo to get rest as the Hobbit was obviously recovering from shock and excitement. Thorin sank down on the blanket to lie down on his back and helped Bilbo slide down next to him so that his feet were away from their entwined bodies but the Hobbit’s head was next to Thorin’s._

_“Do you feel better Bilbo?” Thorin asked worriedly, his blue eyes staring deeply into Bilbo’s and the Hobbit smiled weakly and dropped his head forward so that his forehead clunked softly against Thorin’s in the traditional Dwarf manner. Thorin closed his eyes at the contact and leaned forward and rubbed his large nose against Bilbo’s in supressed affection._

_“I feel much better.” Bilbo whispered “But Oin didn’t look at my hands.”_

_“What’s wrong with your hands?” Thorin asked his eyes still closed and his forehead still pressed against Bilbo’s._

_“I think I burnt them slightly on a rock that had seen Smaug’s flame.” Bilbo murmured and then gasped as the pain seemed to suddenly intensify in his hands. He pulled them up and peered at them in the gloominess before letting out a piercing shriek and trying to pull away from Thorin’s embrace._

_“What’s wrong?” Thorin said sleepily and held Bilbo tighter to him._

_“My hands!” Bilbo cried and pushed away from Thorin, scrambling along the ground until his back hit the wall farthest from Thorin._

_His hands were peeling away, the burnt flesh falling away to reveal smooth red scales underneath and as Bilbo held up his hands and watched in horror the skin melted away over his arms and legs to reveal scales beneath._

_“Ahhhhhh!” Bilbo screamed and clawed at his face as fire seemed to suddenly bloom under his skin and the claws on his fingertips shredded his skin until there was nothing left but scales._

_“Smaug!” Thorin roared and pulled his sword from its sheath and advanced towards Bilbo._

_“Thorin!” Bilbo screeched, his voice distorted and warped, sounding like some demonic cry rather than the familiar tones he was used to. “Please Thorin, help me!”_

_The Company came charging into the room with their weapons raised and they all moved as one slowly coming towards Bilbo who screamed and tried to press himself tightly against the wall. Except his screams no longer sounded like screams but the roars of a dragon and Bilbo watched in horror as the King Under the Mountain his face twisted with bitterness and anger raised his sword back and plunged it deep into Bilbo’s chest._

_Bilbo/Smaug screeched and writhed around the blade which had driven deep into his chest and pierced his heart._

_“It hurts! It hurts! Thorin, Please!” Bilbo screamed as the pain consumed him and just when he thought Thorin would callously pull the blade from his chest Bilbo woke up._

* * *

 

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bilbo woke suddenly and bucked against the arms holding his body to the bed. Strong Dwarven hands that were like shackles around his arms and legs and like weights on his shoulders.

“Bilbo! You’re awake! Calm yourself or else you will hurt your hands further.” Thorin’s panicked and worried voice pierced Bilbo’s frantic and terrified mind and the Hobbit slowly came back to his senses.

He was in his bedroom. His bedroom in Bag End with his soft pillows, fluffy blankets, little Hobbit pictures, his patchwork dressing gown. His bedroom full of Dwarves…

Bilbo sat up and leaned back against the pillows and the familiar dark brown wood of his headboard. He winced slightly as he knocked his bandaged hands and hissed through clenched teeth as they seemed to reprimand him by sending a burning pain skittering up his arm that gradually faded back into nothing.

“Are you well Mr Boggins?” Kili asked and he peered at the Hobbit with an anxious look on his face. Bilbo stared at Kili and saw the scar that spread across his face, wide and jagged from Bolg’s blow but he couldn’t see the rope-like marks that he knew would be on Kili’s neck from the chain that the Gundabad orc had tried to strangle and garrotte him with because Kili had begun to grow a beard. Not as thick or as full as his brother’s yet but a beard nonetheless.

“I’m fine Fili.” Bilbo replied and Kili scowled.

“No you aren’t I’m Kili!” The Dwarf said petulantly and Bilbo arched his eyebrow.

“And I’m Mr Baggins, not Boggins.”

“Oops?” Kili offered sheepishly before skittering away from the end of the bed to stand next to Fili who shook his head in exasperation. Thorin was perched towards the end of Bilbo’s bed, near the Hobbit’s feet so Bilbo had an unrestricted view of the Dwarves who were seated or stood in his bedroom in various states of concern or excitement.

Bilbo counted the assembled group and then frowned.

“Unless I have lost my mind, which is entirely possible, there were thirteen Dwarves and yet only eleven are here now… Where’s Gloin and Nori?” Bilbo asked almost hesitantly. Fear seemed to swell inside him at the thought of the two being injured or dead.

“Don’t you worry Bilbo.” Bofur said cheerfully and marched over to rub his hand on the Hobbit’s head as if Bilbo was a fauntling in need of comfort. “Gloin is spending some time with Gimli in the caravan that’s settled just outside Hobbiton, having not seen the wee lad for so long he was mighty happy to be able to go hunting with the lad. Nori is off scouting and gathering information like the thief he is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he turns up in a bit knowing every single piece of dirt on every Hobbit for miles!”

Bilbo sighed and relaxed.

“That’s good.” He mumbled and smiled happily. “I’m so pleased.”

The Dwarves chuckled at the Hobbit’s suddenly wide and happy grin.

“I must ask though,” Bilbo began but before he could continue there was a loud knock on his front door and every Dwarf’s head swung towards the direction and a couple of the more wary Dwarves (Dwalin and Bifur) placed their hands on their weapons as if expecting an attack.

The front door creaked open and Bell called down the corridor.

“Bilbo?”

“I’m in my bedroom Bell.” Bilbo shouted out. “Come on in.”

Thorin shifted at the end of Bilbo’s bed, his brow furrowed as if angered and Bilbo worried his lip nervously.

“Bilbo I’ve brought some more honey and some bandages so we can wrap your hands again. I hope you haven’t been using th…” Bell pushed the ajar door open and stepped into Bilbo’s bedroom and her sentence trailed off as she saw the eleven Dwarves filling Bilbo’s large, but rather small when filled with so many Dwarves, bedroom. She squeaked slightly at the sight of the scarred and battle-worn warriors and the scowls that were being sent her way by several of the Dwarves.

Bilbo growled at his Dwarves before smiling reassuringly at Bell.

“Please ignore my over-bearing guests Bell. I would introduce you but it seems they have forgotten their manners and I don’t think a lady such as yourself should have to endure such treatment from the supposed Heroes of Erebor.” Bilbo’s voice was sugar sweet but a core of steel ran through his tone and the Dwarves shivered nervously and shuffled away from the bed where their Burglar sat looking oh so very innocent and pale but smiling in an eerie and spine-tingling fashion.

“Right you are Mr Bilbo.” Bell said and marched into the room heading towards the bed with the bandages draped over her arm, a jar of honey in one hand and a bowl and flannel in the other. Thorin surged to his feet when she neared Bilbo and blocked the Hobbit lady from her patient. Bilbo winced as he waited for the scolding the King Under the Mountain would inevitably receive for that action. He was not disappointed. Bell wasn’t raising six fauntlings without knowing how to take impertinent and rude manners down a peg or two.

“Master Dwarf. You will move out of my way and let me tend to Mr Bilbo right now. I can realise you are one of his so called companions from his Adventure a few months ago but that does not give you the right to deny him treatment for an injury he received protecting my child from fire. If you do not step aside this instant, Dwarf or not I will give you a thrashing you will not forget!” Bell snarled almost viciously. “We Hobbits do not take kindly to larger Folk trying to intimidate us and you can bet we have more than one way to make you suffer for it if you are planning on remaining in the Shire for more than one night. If I so chose I could have your behaviour and other unsavoury characteristics and actions spread around Hobbiton within the hour, Hobbit gossiping to Hobbit with each telling of this encounter growing and becoming more and more scandalous and outrageous. This would then lead to the Ranger’s being summoned most likely and you and your Company being escorted from the Shire in shame and never be allowed to return again and that is the least horrible thing that might happen. So, will you step aside Master Dwarf or will I have to bring out my spoon?”

Bilbo bit his lip and clutched his sides as he struggled not to laugh at the equally horrified and awed looks on Fili and Kili’s faces. They had never seen anyone, except for Bilbo and their mother, talk to Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain in such a manner before and the two sister-sons of the King were wondering whether Thorin would submit to such a fierce Hobbit lady. Thorin rarely backed down even to Dis and they had seen him step away from fights with Bilbo but Thorin stepping back for a strange Hobbit lass was an almost unfathomable idea.

Thorin however seemed quite happy to step aside once Bell had finished her rant. In fact he had seemed to relax almost instantly when Bell had mentioned her child and Bilbo frowned at the Dwarf King’s sudden and surprising subservience.

“Forgive me Mistress.” Thorin rumbled, his voice rich and full and Bilbo supressed a shiver as Thorin used his voice to enchant Bell. Bilbo had always thought Thorin had a beautiful voice. It could rally Dwarf, Men and Hobbit (and possibly Elf although Bilbo thought Thorin would never have the desire to try) under his leadership, could enchant the sternest of elderly women, sweet talk the shyest of maidens and lift the spirits of any who heard it, at least when he put his mind to it. Most of the time the Dwarf King just sounded grumpy or angry but when he tried Thorin could ensnare anyone’s mind with his dulcet and caressing voice. Each syllable was carefully crafted, each word given the utmost care and attention and his voice rose and fell like a dragon’s spell sneaking into one’s mind until they longed to hear nothing but Thorin.

It shocked Bilbo just how much Thorin’s voice still affected him. The Hobbit could recall nights lying next to Thorin listening to the Dwarf weave wondrous tales of Erebor and of Frerin. Sweet words whispered in his pointed ear and over his belly as Thorin worshipped his Burglar in every possible way. But Bilbo could also remember how Thorin’s voice had turned sour, how it had clawed at Bilbo like a wild animal, snarling and snapping, howling his perceived betrayal at the desperate Hobbit.

“It has been many months since we last saw Mr Baggins and when we arrived he was not as we expected him to be. No sooner had we knocked upon his door and briefly exchanged words than Mr Baggins collapsed at his door. We hope you can understand our wariness at allowing someone whom we are not acquainted with into his proximity after such a scare? We feared something more sinister may have happened and so we, I, beg your forgiveness Mistress Hobbit.” Thorin bowed low, the bow of a servant and not of a King and his Company followed suit much to the surprise of the two Hobbits.

“Well.” Bell said shocked. “I suppose Mr Bilbo fainting away in such a manner would have caused you great worry and concern. I shall put your mind at ease however Master Dwarf. I am Bell Gamgee, my husband is Mr Bilbo’s gardener and this afternoon whilst my family and I were visiting there was an accident where my youngest, barely three years old, tumbled into the fire in the living room. Mr Bilbo leapt up and pulled her from the flames but her hair had caught alight and in his haste to put out the flames and save her golden locks and prevent worse injury, he used his own sensitive hands to smother the flames. I merely came up to change his bandages, it is mighty difficult to change your own bandages when both hands are bound you see.”

“You are a kind lady Mistress Gamgee.” Thorin said smoothly and smiled charmingly at Bell. She blushed at the sight of the handsome Dwarf smilingly so enchantingly at her.

“Oh hush up now.” She scolded him playfully and then turned to Bilbo, a fiery blush still prominent on her cheeks. Bilbo stared at her open-mouthed. It had been a few years since he had seen Bell so flustered and bright cheeked from flirtations. Only Hamfast had ever been able to elicit such a hue of vibrant red from the Hobbit lass.

“I don’t know what you’re looking at with such a stare Mr Bilbo.” Bell muttered and began pulling the bandages slowly from his hands, the honey sticky and had soaked through the fabric and stuck quite resiliently to her hands.

Bilbo hissed softly as the final bandages peeled off and tugged lightly on the burns. Thorin had stepped closer to the bed and laid a comforting and firm hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. The warmth from the Dwarf’s hand was a welcome distraction for Bilbo and he looked up to see Thorin looking down with a worried frown that normally only showed when his nephews were injured or in danger.

“Will Mr Boggins be alright Mistress Gamgee?” Kili suddenly piped up from the end of the bed where he, Fili and Ori could be seen their large noses poking over the top of the wooden frame.

“Of course he will. The burns don’t look too bad now. Is there a Healer amongst you Dwarves?” Bell asked as she gently washed off the honey and patted his hands dry.

“Oin.” Thorin said and stepped aside as the Healer moved over to stand by Bell. The grizzled old Dwarf began talking quietly with Bell about treatment for Bilbo’s hands but Bilbo found he could not keep his attention on Bell or Oin. His gaze was drawn to Thorin who moved across the crowded room to lean down and speak to Bombur and Bofur. The two brothers looked up at Thorin and nodded before exiting Bilbo’s bedroom, Bombur waddling sideways through the door, his girth so wide that he only fit through Bilbo’s door at an angle.

The other Dwarves seemed to realise that something was up and began filtering out the bedroom. Dori tugging Ori, Fili and Kili out and Balin and Dwalin nodding to Bilbo before leaving. Bifur and Thorin left as well and Bilbo leaned anxiously to peer around Oin and watched as Thorin slowly shut the door to his bedroom.

Bilbo relaxed back against his pillows and turned his attention to his newly honey-lathered and bandaged. He grunted in surprise at seeing that whilst he had been focused on the Dwarves and one Dwarf in particular Bell had finished caring for his hands and she and Oin were exchanging knowing looks.

“How long?” Bell asked.

“Months, maybe longer.” Oin grunted before nodding to Bell. “Our illustrious leader did not introduce his-self nor me. I am Oin, son of Groin and Healer to the King and his family.”

“Pleasure I’m sure.” Bell said with a slight curtesy. “I’ll leave Mr Bilbo in your capable hands Master Oin. If you should need any medicinal plants or herbs do come down to Bagshot Row and knock on our door, number 3 it is. My husband and I have managed to keep some small supply of plants growing through the winter in a new glass contraption. Frightfully clever thing but I don’t much understand it. All I know is it has plants that I can use for cuts and bruises and other ailments so that’s good enough for me.”

Bell smiled and then turned to Bilbo.

“You mind Master Oin, Mr Bilbo. You don’t want to lose your hands to the Ice Touch now do you?”

Bilbo shook his head emphatically under the piercing and stern gaze of Bell, he could see how she ruled her brood of faunts with such a stare. He even believed she might have been able to silence Smaug with that look. The image of Bell facing down Smaug and giving the ancient dragon a telling off was almost too much and Bilbo bit his lip to stifle his grin and his giggles.

“Plenty of rest will see the laddie put to rights again.” Oin grunted and poked at Bilbo’s belly. The male Hobbit yelped and tried to move away from Oin’s probing fingers. “How many meals is it you Hobbit’s have on average Mrs Gamgee?”

“Oh about seven a day if we can fit them in. I know you Dwarves are more like Men, three meals a day. Mr Bilbo probably hasn’t even been doing that have you?”

The two healers looked at Bilbo and he meekly shook his head. Bell sighed and leaned forward to press a kiss to the older Hobbit’s cheek.

“No more of that now. Proper meals. The idea of you collapsing up here when you’re all alone and it could be hours before someone finds you frightens me Bilbo.” Bell whispered softly in his ear and gently stroked his cheek affectionately. It had been a while since Bilbo had been so touched in such a caring and loving way. The Hobbits of the Shire whilst a very affectionate and loving race and often engaged in touches that demonstrated affection and caring were not so forthcoming with their contact when it came to Mad Baggins. Indeed the Head of the Baggins family had been sorely deprived of physical contact before he left the Shire on his Adventure with only the occasional embrace from faunts or from his cousin Drogo and his wife and child, Primula and Frodo.

Then Bilbo had received many fleeting touches from the Company. A hand on his elbow to help him over sharp rocks, a reassuring presence at his back whilst he slept, the cuddles with Fili, Kili and Ori on cold nights and when the younger Dwarves were in need of reassurance because despite their declarations of being of age they were still young enough to want cuddles at upsetting or happy times. One armed hugs from Bofur and Gloin, the calloused but careful touches and prods from Oin as he sought out injuries. Then there had been the plethora of touches from the King Under the Mountain. Embraces that felt like they could have lasted forever, hands entwined as they walked through the darkness of Mirkwood, fingers that had quested over flesh and mapped out his body as he lay trembling beneath the Mountain King, soft kisses pressed to his lips and ears and cheeks and nose and neck and had descended further and further down his body.

Once back in the Shire though Bilbo had retreated from contact, a one armed hug from Hamfast made Bilbo think of Bofur and his friends. Cuddles from the faunts made him think of Fili and Ori and Frodo’s cuddles when he looked up at Bilbo with his dark curls and bright blue eyes made Bilbo’s heart weep at the resemblance to Kili.

The hands of Bell Gamgee however were weather worn, rough from cleaning, washing, cooking and caring for her family but at the same time they were soft and tender hands that rocked her youngest to sleep and wiped away tears from her children’s eyes when they had fallen. A mother’s touch was like nothing else in all of Middle Earth and Bilbo leant into her cupped hand and closed his eyes briefly.

Bell looked at Oin over the top of Bilbo’s head and gave the Dwarf a warning glare. Oin could all too easily read the message behind her fierce look.

‘Don’t hurt him anymore.’

Oin bowed low and returned her gaze with his own open and un-shuttered look.

‘I’ll make sure we don’t. Can’t promise anything but we’ll do our best to heal him in every way.’

Bell ‘humphed’ in satisfaction and then moved her hand away from Bilbo’s face.

“I’ll be off then Mr Bilbo. Need to make sure my little ones haven’t terrorized my house completely and that my Hamfast hasn’t gotten all caught up in his little ‘glass house’ again and let the faunts run wild. Goodness knows if you gave them half the chance they’d be tearing through Hobbiton in naught but their underpants!”

Bilbo chuckled at Bell’s words and shook his head in exasperation. Bell’s words were true and he wouldn’t be surprised if half-naked faunts ran past his window that very instant.

“Master Oin.” Bell said and curtsied before opening the door and trotting down Bag End. There were a few moments silence as she put on her coat and boots before Bilbo heard the front door swing open and then the solid thud as she shut it tight and kept the icy wind out of Bilbo’s warm smial.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bilbo sat awkwardly with Oin for several long and tense silences after Bell had left. The old, grumpy Dwarf had inspected nearly every inch of Bilbo (except some areas thank you very much!) and had made some grumbling and irritated comments about Bilbo’s weight, the dark circles under his eyes, the tremors that shook his legs and hands and arms when he tried to keep still and the general paleness of the Hobbit’s skin. Bilbo had protested that Hobbits tended to fade in the winter due to lack of sunlight and the cold conditions but it seemed Oin was on a rampage.

“Hmm. Have to make sure you eat properly Bilbo. Any more weight lost and you could turn invisible. You do that too often or at least you did, but if you are this thin and you turn invisible we’d never be able to find you.” Oin helped Bilbo pull his shirt down and Bilbo sighed slightly in irritation.

It seemed he was due for some Dwarf care now. Bilbo realized that he wouldn’t mind that all too much. Company during the holidays seemed to be such a lovely idea. His smial filled with voices and laughter and songs and general merriment and food….

“Oh goodness!” Bilbo cried and flung the covers back and leapt out of the bed. He wavered unsteadily on his feet as a slight dizziness hit him and Oin placed a large hand on his back to stop the Hobbit tipping backwards.

“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” Oin said concerned.

“I haven’t made you all something to eat or drink! How disgraceful! You have all been in my hobbit hole for several hours now and I haven’t offered you any form of refreshment or made you comfortable.”

Oin spluttered in surprise but before he could fully form a sentence Bilbo had managed to open his bedroom door and was tottering down the hall on unsteady feet and swaying slightly with weariness.

“Dearie me. I haven’t got anything prepared and blast it all I won’t be much use in the kitchen with my hands all bandaged and trussed up like a chicken. Let me see now. There should be some cold meats in the cool room, some bread baked yesterday which should be good for today, maybe toast it over the fire? Oh I have some pickled vegetables and some boiled eggs that can go out on the table.” Bilbo muttered and worried at his bottom lip as he slowly trotted down towards his kitchen.

So concerned about his poor hospitality was he that he failed to notice the soft rumblings of deep Dwarf voices coming from his kitchen and dining room until he was literally standing outside the room.

“Mr Bilbo!” Dori cried out and all heads turned to the open doorway where Bilbo stood frowning in thought. The Dwarf’s cry broke him from his thoughts and Bilbo turned and his mouth fell open in surprise.

Once again the Dwarves had taken over his dining room, moved his dressers and other furniture out into the hallway and pulled his dining table into the centre of the room. Extra chairs had been found from the other rooms including Uncle Mungo’s antique chair which Bilbo really hoped one of the slimmer Dwarves would sit on, it hadn’t done well under Gloin’s weight last time. Plates had been set (the West Farthing set) knives and forks laid out, mugs of tea, tankards of ale and glasses of Shire cider were placed at different seats. The centre of the table held several great pots of what smelt like the most delicious soup, bowls of bread that had been thickly sliced and thoroughly buttered as well as platters with a variety of cold and smoked meats. Some small bowls had pickles and the shelled, boiled eggs in them and it seemed Bombur had even managed to find a few vegetables that didn’t need to be cooked and placed them near the head of the table. 

“Goodness.” Bilbo said softly and looked around at the Company’s anxious faces. All the Dwarves looked ready to lunge into action if Bilbo showed any sign of collapse again but Bilbo had to admit he hadn’t felt so strong and so weak since the last time they had all been together and happy. All that time ago before the horrible business with the treasure and the Arkenstone and the fighting and shouting and the ruin and the death.

“Steady laddie.” Balin’s voice penetrated Bilbo’s frantic thoughts. The Dwarf’s rumbling voice was familiar and soothing much like Bilbo’s grandfather Old Took. “Take deep breaths and breathe out through your nose. That’s it. Listen to the sound of my voice and breathe in time with it. In and out, In and out.”

Slowly Bilbo brought his panic attack back under control and he hastily dashed the backs of his bandaged hands at the tears that had fallen unwillingly in his panicked state.

“Come and sit down and get some nice hot soup into you.” Balin wrapped a strong and steady arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and guided the Hobbit to the head of the table and settled him into the chair with the high back and plump cushions. Ori suddenly appeared at Bilbo’s other side with a hand-knitted blanket and draped it over Bilbo’s legs and tucked it in down the sides of the chair. The wool was incredibly soft and fluffy and Bilbo felt as if he were wrapped up in a cloud.

The Company slowly took seats around the table with Thorin sitting down the opposite end to Bilbo at the head of the table. Bombur came bustling into the dining room, the last Dwarf to take his place next to Bilbo. The large rotund Dwarf had brought in one final platter which smelt fantastic to Bilbo and made his belly rumble in hunger.

“Here you are Master Baggins!” Bombur said cheerfully but quietly compared to the noise his companions were making as they dived into grabbing food and placing it on their plates. Bofur had been put in charge of dishing out soup and was ladling large spoonful’s of chicken soup into carved wooden bowls and passing them down and around the table.

Bombur however had brought in a platter with some cooked meats on it: sausages that were still hissing slightly, strips of juicy bacon and there were a few fried tomatoes thrown in too. Bombur held the platter carefully and took a couple of the smaller sausages and strips of bacon and forked them onto Bilbo’s plate along with two large tomatoes that were dripping and oozing juice onto his plate in seconds.

“This is wonderful Bombur.” Bilbo murmured and he gingerly picked up the large utensils the Dwarves had laid out for him. It seemed they had considered the difficulties Bilbo might face using his normal sized cutlery with his heavily bandaged hands and so they had found a chunky wooden soup spoon and some of his slightly larger knives and forks that he normally used for the big folk who rarely visited.

Although he was clumsy at first at cutting his sausages open Bilbo let out a little moan of appreciation when he finally managed to spear a piece of sausage and put it in his mouth. The juiciness of the sausage was heavenly and the outside was slightly crispier.

“Did you put a bit of rosemary in the pan Master Bombur?” Bilbo asked as he slowly cut a piece of bacon off.

“Aye Master Baggins just a little bit of flavor, nothing too much for you though as I know eating richly flavored foods when you’ve not had much to eat doesn’t do well on one’s stomach. And please don’t get all formal on me again. We are friends and I’d rather you called me Bombur, especially after how you were so kind to my wife and daughter this morning.”

Bombur blushed and ducked his head as Bilbo stared at him in awe and surprise.

“Sibrit and Sibreg? They’re your family?!”

“Aye, my beautiful wife and lovely little lass. Sibrit is the youngest of my children.”

Bilbo chewed thoughtfully on his bacon and swallowed before tentatively speaking again. The other Dwarves seemed to be ignoring his and Bombur’s conversation entirely as they were too busy drinking and stuffing their faces. All except the King Under the Mountain and Balin however who were eating and talking emphatically with Thorin shaking his head every now and again and Balin wagging his finger at his King as if he were telling off a naughty child.

“They were very kind to me Bombur. You are lucky to have such a beautiful wife and daughter. I can only apologize for my kin’s behavior. Lobelia has never been very polite in the first place but she sank to an all-time low today. Anyway, how many children do you have Bombur?”

Bombur smiled happily and spooned some soup into a small wooden bowl for Bilbo and put it on the Hobbit’s plate and waited for Bilbo to taste the creamy and comforting chicken soup before he began speaking again. How Bombur had mastered the ability to talk and still decimate the contents of his plate Bilbo would never know but the sweet Dwarf’s talking helped Bilbo eat the soup and bread and barely notice he was doing so.

“Sibrit is my youngest not even thirty yet and she’s my only lass. The others are all boys, eleven of them. The oldest is slightly older than Prince Fili and he’s taken after Sibreg and gone into glass blowing and crafting. The two after that were twins, both around Ori’s age but they haven’t chosen a skill yet. There were three more boys in the space of four years after that born so close together that they are always together and act more like one person than individuals, they followed after their Uncle Bofur and went into mining. There was a gap after that and then we had another three more boys after those ten years.   
Two of them have gone into weapons training and the third is studying to be a scribe like Master Ori. Sibreg and I were going to stop then but we thought we’d like to try another time and see if we could get a girl. You see girls are normally strong in Sibreg’s line so it was quite a surprise for both of us when every babe turned out to be a boy! No girl that time but another pair of boy twins. They aren’t much older than Sibrit who was a pleasant and happy surprise so the three of them tend to be thick as thieves and always getting into mischief.   
Of course Sibrit is spoiled with all her older brother’s being so protective of her and all. Her Uncles aren’t too good at saying no to her either and Bofur’s always bring her new wood toys and Bifur takes her to see new animals. She thinks the world is her oyster and said to me the other day that she was going to marry Prince Kili. The poor Prince looked equally flattered and horrified as she followed him round for days on end as we packed up our home in the Blue Mountains and got ready to travel back to Erebor.” Bombur shook with laughter and Bilbo found himself shaking his head and chuckling at the image of Kili trying to run away from the little ginger Dwarrow-child with sticky fingers.

“Oh I can just see Kili running away from her!” Bilbo giggled and relaxed back into his chair.

“It was a sight.” Bombur agreed and mopped up the last of his soup with a crust of bread. All the Dwarves had finished eating and were all sitting back in their seats with various expressions of satisfaction and fullness.

Bilbo leaned forward slightly and leaned on the table, his hands wrapping around a mug of freshly poured chamomile tea and he stared down the table at Thorin Oakenshield who held his gaze with a strong look.

“Now that you have pillaged my pantry once more,” Bilbo began and sipped his tea to wet his abruptly dry mouth and sore throat. “Maybe you could tell me what has brought the Company of Thorin Oakenshield who travelled all the way to Erebor and fought many foes only to return and knock on my door in the middle of winter?”

Thorin stared at Bilbo but made no move to answer and so Balin sighed and began to speak.

“We travelled back to the Blue Mountains for many reasons Bilbo. Many of us wished to find our families and escort them to our reclaimed home once more whilst others wanted to get away from the bustle of our kingdom which is under much maintenance. We all have our own reasons for coming. But we were all agreed on one thing, we wished to come and visit you, our dear companion and friend and apologize for our treatment of you.”

“I see.” Bilbo said and sipped on his tea again. He was quite flummoxed at this turn of events. “How long were you planning on remaining in the Shire?”

His voice trembled at the thought of them leaving tomorrow or so soon and so abruptly after their arrival. They would come and make him happy and fill his smial with laughter and then they would leave and take his happiness with them and turn his hobbit hole into a silent and lonely place once more.

Balin glanced at Thorin but still the King said nothing nor did he avert his gaze from Bilbo. Dwalin who was sat further down the table growled and said something in Khuzdul that had the other Dwarves glancing nervously at Thorin as if expecting him to rise up in a rage. Thorin did not react however except to stand and walk out of the dining room without a single word or sound.

Dwalin grumbled again in Khuzdul and swigged down the rest of his ale, slamming the tankard back down on the table noisily.

“Stupid King.” He muttered in Westron before pushing his chair back noisily across the floor boards and nodding briefly at Bilbo.

“If you’ll excuse me Master Burglar, I have a King to knock some sense into.” Dwalin scowled and strode from the room his booted feet thudding loudly on the carpeted floors of Bag End and Bilbo and the others heard the front door open and two pairs of feet leave the smial.

Kili whistled loudly at all this.

“I bet Dwalin hands Uncle his arse.”

Fili nodded in agreement as did most of the other Dwarves.

“I don’t suppose any of you are going to explain what that was all about?” Bilbo said and received nothing but mutterings and coughs and averted gazes. “Well keep your secrets, but at least tell me how long you plan on remaining in Hobbiton? After all I’d have thought you could not leave Erebor without a King or Princes?”

Balin shook his head. “Princess Dis is acting Regent until Thorin returns. As to how long we will remain in Hobbiton, well it really depends on Thorin but he has said we will remain as long as you are comfortable with us staying in the Shire.”

“Oh.” Bilbo said pleasantly surprised. “Well you cannot travel in the winter. It would not be pleasant, not pleasant at all. You must stay until the end of the Winter Festival at least! Now have you arranged sleeping arrangements or do we need to sort that now?”

The Dwarves all looked surprised at Bilbo’s sudden vivaciousness and renewed energy. Since their arrival they had noticed their Hobbit looking nervous, worried, tense and unwell. They had worried that at any given moment he would keel over again but now; despite his pale skin, tired look and dull hair that was not shining with the copper hues they all recalled so fondly, there was a sparkle in his eyes and a slight glimmer of colour in his cheeks.

“We don’t want to cause you any trouble Mr Bilbo.” Dori said worriedly.

“Nonsense! You are guests in the Shire and what’s more you are my dear friends! You will stay with me if you have not already organised somewhere to reside for the Winter Festival.”

Bilbo pushed his chair back and plucked the blanket Ori had given him early from his lap. The large piece of woven threads was large enough for him to wrap around his shoulders like a cape and bury his chin and nose in too. It wasn’t that Bilbo was cold, in fact he felt so very warm and happy at this moment, but that he wanted to hide the tremors in his hands and legs that were the result of both exhaustion and excitement.

“Come on then!” He said and the Dwarves surged to their feet. “Now will you all need a place to sleep?”

“I won’t Bilbo.” Bombur said and waddled after the Hobbit into the hallway. “I had best be getting back to Sibreg and my little ones. We’re all sleeping in a house at the edge of town, one of the widows is putting us up.”

“Very well.” Bilbo said. “What about Gloin and Nori?”

“Gloin will be staying with Gimli and his wife. Nori will find a bed somewhere. He may even sneak in here in the small hours and sleep on the sofa.” Balin offered to Bilbo and the Hobbit nodded in understanding. Nori had always managed to find the oddest of places to fall asleep in or on during their Quest. Once Bilbo had found him asleep on a window ledge on the tallest tower of Rivendell. It had been several levels high and the door to the tower had been locked as Bilbo had discovered when he tried to open it. How Nori had gotten up so high Bilbo had dreaded to think. The other odd place the Company had found Nori asleep in had been a barrel in Bard’s home when they had been hiding from the Master’s men. The thief had jumped into the barrel and hidden, as had the rest of the Company, when the Master’s guards came calling to Bard’s house. When the guards had left however Nori had not emerged for several long minutes and it was only when they began to search for him Dori had found him curled up at the bottom of a barrel that had once held food or water fast asleep. Bilbo’s sofa would be mighty comfier and Bilbo asked Dori to put a blanket out in the living room in case Nori did come round.

“The rest of you will be staying here?” Bilbo said hopefully and he stared up at the Dwarves with a heartbreakingly anticipative and nervous look. Fili and Kili’s arms twitched and they lunged forward and wrapped their Hobbit in a tight but gentle embrace, burying their heads in Bilbo’s shoulders.

“Of course we will Bilbo.” Balin said tenderly and the Company made various noises of agreement and smiled at Bilbo.

“Right then.” Bilbo said and patted Fili and Kili on their heads before leading the Company down and further into Bag End than they had ever gone before.

The Hole under the Hill truly did go deep under the hill and there were several rooms that were for guests that had not been used in a long time. Bilbo led Dwarves to rooms where there were different varieties of beds.

Dori and Ori went in a room with a large double bed that was for Hobbit couples but would do for the two brothers as did Fili and Kili. Bofur and Bifur were placed in a room a few doors down that had two single beds that were large enough for Hobbits and would just fit the Dwarves. Balin and Oin agreed to share a room and the two older Dwarves went in next to Bifur and Bofur. The rooms that lay between Bofur and Bifur’s and Fili and Kili’s rooms were two bathrooms and a linen cupboard and Bilbo showed the Dwarves the fresh linens that they could put on their beds and the towels that were stacked neatly at the bottom of the cupboard.

The rooms that remained were a room intended for use by one of the Big Folk, a room for Faunts that had several small cot-like beds and Bilbo quickly explained that he often had his young nephew and some of Bell’s children stay over when their parents needed a reprieve, and a single bedroom that had once, many years ago been Bilbo’s own room.

“Well…” Bilbo said thoughtfully. “I suppose Thorin and Dwalin could have the Big Folk room and Nori the single?”

“Ah no. Thorin and Dwalin would kill each other in their sleep. Thorin doesn’t sleep well with anyone next to him, lad doesn’t trust anyone enough to do that save for Fili and Kili but they haven’t slept with their Uncle since they were Dwarflings. No one has been in Thorin’s bed since they were young. Not since he was attacked when he was a working Blacksmith in the years after our exile from Erebor. Nasty business that but it left Thorin unable to sleep with someone in the same bed as him.” Balin said in a low voice to Bilbo and the Hobbit reared back in surprise.

As far as Bilbo’s knowledge went Thorin had been able to sleep perfectly well when he and Bilbo had shared a bed. In fact the King Under the Mountain had been a bit of a cuddle monster and Bilbo had woken one morning to find himself wrapped up in Thorin’s arms and pulled on top of the Dwarf’s wide chest.

Bilbo blushed lightly but kept his thoughts to himself.

“Could Dwalin and Nori share?”

Balin chuckled and shook his head.

“Dwalin and Nori have put aside their differences since we reclaimed Erebor. In fact they work as a team now. Dwalin is Thorin’s bodyguard and Nori is the Spymaster and the King’s Shadow unofficially of course, wouldn’t do for any enemies or potential assassins to know who holds the position of controlling the spy rings and the various gangs. Nori is a double threat too because he is the King’s Shadow.”

Bilbo frowned at all this information. He felt rather uncomfortable at the thought that anyone still wished the King Under the Mountain harm.

“What does the King’s Shadow do?” The Hobbit asked Balin as they stood outside the single bedroom. Bilbo had opened the doors to both rooms and Balin had lit candles and a fire in both to chase off the chill that had settled in the rooms so long unused.

“The King’s Shadow is a secret bodyguard, Nori should theoretically know of any assassination plot or attack before it happens unless it is a spontaneous event. In the case of a plot Nori would let it play out until he had enough information and then he would remove the threat to the King. Nori is also always present at any meeting or event Thorin attends as either an attendant or as a shadow in the wall, ready to take out any aggressor with stealth weapons so that the death of the would be assailant cannot be traced back to Thorin.”

Bilbo swallowed nervously at the idea of Nori throwing his thin daggers or his poisoned needles from a hidden gap in the throne room of Erebor.

“Dwalin and Nori actually get along quite well now they are on the same side of the law now. Before Dwalin was always trying to prevent Nori from committing crimes or trying to arrest him but now Nori has a full pardon and is working to protect Thorin and the line of Durin they both have a common ground. They also enjoy discussing brutal ways to kill or maim enemies so I wouldn’t go sitting in on any of their conversations Bilbo, it’s quite off-putting.” Balin wrinkled his nose in distaste and Bilbo smiled faintly.

An unexpected wave of tiredness hit the Hobbit in a flash and Bilbo found he was wavering unsteadily on his feet. Oin who had joined Balin and Bilbo for their conversation pounced on Bilbo and began nudging and prodding the Hobbit slightly down the hallway towards his own bedroom.

“Bed laddie. You need your rest.” Oin bustled into Bilbo’s room and put an extra log on the fire and pulled the curtains over to keep the chill and the morning light out. Then the Healer turned and began assisting Bilbo out of his clothes in a very medical and business-like manner.

Bilbo was too tired to do much more than protest weakly but Oin left Bilbo some privacy by putting the Hobbit’s night shirt on before he pulled his underpants down. Bilbo felt like a fauntling again being undressed and put to bed by someone who cared for him.

“Take a sip of this Bilbo.” Oin held up a small brown bottle and tipped it to Bilbo’s mouth. A bitter tasting liquid that made Bilbo want to stick his tongue out or drink something sweet to wash away the taste.

“What is that? It tastes foul.” Bilbo asked tiredly. He clambered up into bed without any further encouragement from Oin and the Dwarf pulled the blankets up over the Hobbit who was struggling to grip the fluffy fabric of his sheets with his bandaged fingers.

“Juice from a poppy. It’ll help you sleep and dull any pain you feel from your hands. Just enough to give you a peaceful night’s sleep. Anymore and you may not wake up in the morning or you could get sick on it and want it all the time.”

Bilbo shuddered and stared up at Oin through his eyelashes as his eyelids slowly slid shut.

“Sounds horrible, like Dragon Sickness.”

“Aye laddie. It can be like Dragon Sickness but you don’t need to fret about that now. You just rest and get a good night’s sleep and we’ll all see you in the morning.”

Bilbo nodded and turned his head to the side already drifting off to sleep in a far happier state than he had been in a while.

The smell of Dwarf lingered in his bedroom and Bilbo blinked muzzily when he felt something in his bed sheets that had not been there the previous night. Blinking owlishly and fighting back sleep Bilbo quested around his bed with his bandaged fingers until he found the source of the lump.

A dark blue coat, soft and warm and lined with dark grey fur.

“Thorin’s coat.” Bilbo murmured and then pressed his nose to it after glancing around as if expecting Thorin to suddenly pop out of the woodwork and seize the garment. Bilbo inhaled deeply and relaxed further into his plush and warm bed.

The Hobbit drifted off to sleep cuddling the King Under the Mountain’s coat to him like a teddy and his last conscious thought before the Sandman took him was that whilst the coat was nice it was incomparable to the real thing…

* * *

 


	3. Ori and the Fauntling Following

The Hobbit: A Dwarf is for Life not Just for Christmas   
  
Chapter 3  
Ori and the Fauntling Following

* * *

Ori liked to believe that he was special. He could fight well enough but did not have a taste for violence unless his family and friends were in trouble. He could engrave a bead and knew some small blacksmith skills but he was no great proficient, just enough to get by tending his few weapons. He was not a miner, although he had stone sense like all Dwarves he could only hear the stone when it was pointed out to him unlike Bofur or Bifur who could instantly sense the veins of precious jewels or gold that ran like streams through otherwise unimportant stone.   
He had no particular skill for working as a jeweller having an eye for beauty but unable to create his own beauty. What Ori could do however was read, write and draw. He loved to do all three unlike many of his kin and people. Ori could remember facts and stories after only hearing or reading them once. Drawing was a skill that had come naturally to him from the time he was old enough to stand on his own two feet and pick up a stick and draw in the dirt. Even to this day Ori could still remember in exact detail what his mother’s face looked like even though she had left when he was barely twenty years old (Ori never told Dori that he had several drawings of their mother tucked away in a metal box under his bed).

Ori also liked to think that he was cleverer or at least used his mind more than some of his kin. Of course he could be impulsive and hot-headed and make brash decisions but he could also think logically and was not always ruled by his emotions unlike many of the Company. So this was how Ori woke the first morning in Bag End, curled up in the bed with Dori facing him still fast asleep. Luckily the double bed was along the centre of the wall and so the younger Dwarf was not forced to climb over his big brother in order to leave the warm sheets and pad outside the bedroom with his trusty notebook and pencil in hand.

The Hobbit hole was silent, save for the occasional rumbling snore that emanated from behind several of the doors where Dwarves lay slumbering. Save for this noise Ori could not hear anything else, not the crackle of a fire, nor the sound of birdsong or even the sound of the wind that had begun howling at some point in the night as the snowstorm had settled into the Shire.

It was as if a blanket had fallen over Bag End keeping all sound out.

Ori padded through to the living room and noticed the rolled up, sausage like shape of someone sleeping on the sofa. A plate covered in crumbs and a bowl emptied of soup sat on the table next to the chair and Ori peered round to see his other brother’s boots neatly tucked in under the sofa so as not to trip any unsuspecting Dwarf or Hobbit. Ori was not quite quiet enough however and Nori the Thief woke as his brother stepped further into the room towards the fireplace.

Fortunately for Ori however Nori knew well enough now the feelings and sensations that he felt and heard when someone he trusted was nearby and so didn’t pull a blade or poisoned needle and aim it at the younger Dwarf.

“Morning.” Ori said softly and knelt next to the fireplace and began scraping the ashes out of the hearth and dumping them in the brass bucket nearby that was for that very purpose.

“Morning little brother.” Nori said and yawned, stretching and wincing as his back clicked loudly. “Not as young as I once was. That or I’m getting spoilt from nice soft beds. Time was a kip on a plump sofa like this would have been a luxury, now my back feels like I’ve been sleeping on pebbles.”

Ori shook his head amusedly.

“You can sleep anywhere like a babe. You’re just getting old.” Ori teased and ducked when Nori threw a coaster that lay on the side table at him. Nori glared at him in mock-anger before getting up and stretching again. The older Dwarf gathered up some of the logs that lay stacked neatly in a basket to the right of the fireplace and put them in the grate along with some wispy pieces of hay and other odds and sods. The two brothers glanced around looking for matches and finally found them on a bookshelf to the right of the fireplace.

Soon they had a fire raging in all the main rooms but they hadn’t gone into Bilbo’s study. Ori had peeked his head round and marvelled at all the books within the room and his fingers had twitched with desire to go in and pluck books from the shelves and delve through the pages and allow his mind to absorb as much information as possible.

“Maybe Bilbo will let you go in later today if you ask nicely little brother.” Nori suggested and dragged the younger Dwarf back towards the hall. “For now let’s find out why it’s so damn quiet in this place. I mean, Hobbits aren’t as rambunctious as Dwarves but this is ridiculous. They must have had both breakfasts by now in other Hobbit holes so I’d have thought that they’d be up making noise by now.”

The two brothers approached the front door in their socked feet and both furrowed their brows at the cold that seemed to be emanating from the door. Ori glanced at Nori in puzzlement and the thief shrugged his shoulders.

“Only one thing for it.”

The tri-point mohawk Dwarf strode forward (his teeth chattering slightly but Ori wouldn’t tell anyone) and unlocked the front door and pulled it open wide. Only to be buried by the sudden influx of snow.

Ori yelped loudly and leapt back as Nori was covered in the soft powder before suddenly realising that Nori wouldn’t be able to breathe.

“Nori!” Ori squealed and dived into the mass of snow and began digging with his hands where he thought his brother should be. He managed to shovel great handfuls of snow away before a large hand pushed its way up out of the snow and Ori grabbed it and tugged his brother out.

“Mahal’s Balls!” Nori swore as he shivered as snow had managed to creep into every part of his clothes and was trickling down his back, in his hair, between his toes and in his underpants. ‘Little Nori’ was not appreciating the cold, not at all and Nori jumped up and down cursing and swearing as he tried to warm his cold body up.

All of a sudden from the doorway came a high-pitched voice.

“What does Mahal’s Balls mean?”

Both Dwarves swung round with their fists raised and ready for trouble only to become very confused when there was no one there. They stared out into the front porch but could see no sign of anyone.

“Down here.” The voice came again and was accompanied by a strong and brisk tug on Ori’s knitted cardigan.

Ori peered down and his eyes widened at the sight of a fauntling. Small, pale-skinned and with big blue eyes peeking out from under the crimson coloured hat with a bobble. A thick scarf of the same colour was thoroughly wrapped around his neck and covered the majority of his face up to his nose and little gloves poked out of the brown winter coat.

Both Nori and Ori noted with some interest the boots the Hobbitling was wearing. Small little boots far less sturdy than the boots Dwarflings wore and the Hobbit boots had little tufts of soft white fur poking out from the top.

“Why are you in Bag End? Are you stealing Bilbo’s silverware?” The Faunt’s voice grew stern and Ori bit his lip at how adorable and serious the little Hobbit was attempting to sound. Nori spluttered and gasped and Ori wondered whether his brother always reacted in situations that way, he couldn’t think it would be good for Nori if he got caught red-handed to splutter and gasp like a landed fish.

Giggling slightly Ori crouched down so he could look the fauntling in the eyes and answered back just as seriously.

“We aren’t thieves. We are guests of Master Baggins. My name is Ori and this is my older brother Nori. May we have the pleasure of learning your name young Master Hobbit?”

The small Hobbit puffed up visibly with pride and excitement at being treated like a proper grown-up.

“My name is Frodo Baggins. My Uncle Bilbo is the Master of Bag End and the Head of the Baggins family. He said he would look after me today while Mum and Da finished getting things done for the Winter Festival.”

“I see.”Ori said sagely. The young Dwarf ‘hmmmed’ to himself as if in deep thought and stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“What’s wrong? Is Uncle Bilbo okay? He hasn’t been himself lately, he’s not sick is he?!” Frodo asked worriedly and trotted further into the smial, past the two strange Dwarves and removed his coat and hat and gloves as he went. Unlike the Dwarves however who would just dump their belongings where they fell Frodo hung his coat up on the small peg that sat beneath the coat rack and placed his hat, scarf and gloves in a neat pile on the bench below that. His boots were taken off and neatly placed next to all the other Dwarf boots without a second glance and the fauntling took off down the hallway towards Bilbo’s room.

“Wait Master Frodo.” Ori cried and leapt up to chase after the fauntling hoping to stop the young hobbit from waking the older hobbit. There was no need however as Bilbo’s bedroom door swung open and a fully dressed Bilbo walked out and swept Frodo up into both arms as if his hands were not injured at all.

Frodo giggled in delight and buried his face in his Uncle’s neck.

“Look what I found Ori!” Bilbo crowed. “A tiny Burglar!”

“I’m not a Burglar! I’m a Hobbit! A Hobbit from the Shire! It’s me Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo squealed and wrapped his arms around the older Hobbit’s neck and pulled back to stare into his Uncle’s face.

“Why I don’t believe it!” Bilbo said incredulously and winked at Ori who was watching the interaction with twitching fingers that longed to pick up his notebook and pencil and sketch the scene. “It cannot be young Frodo Baggins?! You must have grown a whole half inch since I last laid eyes on you! And you must have been eating your Dad’s pies again because you feel so heavy I might drop you!”

Bilbo staggered forward and groaned exaggeratedly as if the fauntling’s weight was almost too much to bear. Neither Hobbit noticed the doors creaking open in the hallway behind them, nor the large Dwarven noses that poked out or the eyes that gleamed in delight at the sight of a child.

“Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo squealed and clung on harder to his Uncle’s neck. Ori made to step forward when he caught Bilbo’s wince of pain as his bandaged hands supported the fauntling’s weight but Bilbo winked at the young scribe and Ori remained where he was.

“I think I can manage to get you to the kitchen at least my boy. Have you had second breakfast yet?” Bilbo asked. Frodo shook his head emphatically and grinned delightedly at his Uncle.

“Not yet. Ma and Pa wanted to get jobs done sooner so they only gave me first breakfast and then walked me up here. Uncle Bilbo, why are there Dwarves in your smial?”

Frodo grew nervous and shy as his keen eyes suddenly noticed the Dwarves who had ventured from their bedrooms at the pealing laughter of a child and the delighted cries of Bilbo.

The young faunt wound a nervous hand into his Uncle’s brown locks and pulled hard. Bilbo hissed and lightly began to bounce Frodo on his hip, soothing the faunt. Even though Frodo was no longer considered a very young faunt he could still be quite shy and insecure around many new faces.

“Well Frodo. These are my friends, the ones with whom I went on my Adventure with. They can introduce themselves over second breakfast and you can learn all about them and about their home Under the Mountain. Nori do shut that door, you’re letting all the heat out.” Bilbo said off-hand and carried Frodo through the hallway to the kitchen.

All the Dwarves glanced down at the front door where Nori was still stood with the door wide open and a massive pile of snow around him, staring open-mouthed at the place where the faunt had been.

“Oh dear, I think the faunt broke him.” Ori sighed.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bilbo’s dining room had never witnessed such a scene. Eleven Dwarves eating with amazing manners and stunning silence whilst sneaking glances at the head of the table where Bilbo and Frodo sat eating and chatting merrily.

“Uncle Bilbo why are all the Dwarves staring at us?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know Frodo. One would think they’d never seen a child before. Have you finished your breakfast? Good boy, go on and play in the living room for a bit until the others get here then you can all have lunch.”

“Okay Uncle Bilbo. Will the Dwarves play with me?”

Bilbo glanced at the Dwarves who were looking equally excited and terrified at the prospect.

“Maybe later Frodo.”

The faunt pouted slightly and slid down off the chair and trotted off to the living room, pulling out a book that was hand-bound and laid down on the floor near the fire and began to read quietly to himself, his lips mouthing the words and his brow furrowing at certain words that were unfamiliar to him.

Ori glanced around the table and then seeing no one making any move to speak he coughed and fiddled with his fingerless gloves.

“So Bilbo, how many faunts are there going to be?”

Bilbo glanced up from his plate and watched as the Dwarves seemed to lean in, in anticipation. The Hobbit wrinkled his nose quizzically and dropped his spoon into his porridge and scooped out a small sized portion and chewed thoughtfully.

“Well, Frodo of course, Bell’s children so Hamson, Halfred, Daisy, May, Samwise and Marigold. Then there’s Rosie, Bowman and Nibs Cotton. You know I believe Samwise has a crush on Rosie Cotton so this should be interesting. Then there’s Frodo’s cousin Daisy Boffin and her friend Estella Bolger. Lastly the Took faunts: the twins Pimpernel and Pervinca, Pearl and Peregrin. So not too many for once.”

Bilbo hummed happily, often his smial would be overrun with tiny Faunts but since his Adventure only a few came round and most of the time they were the children of good, decent Hobbits who only had good words for and about Bilbo. They were some of the most honest and kind-hearted Hobbits. Some were even family several times removed.

“Sorry, Master Baggins.” Balin said in a shocked voice. “You mean to tell us that in an hour or so this Hobbit hole will have sixteen children in it?”

Bilbo nodded and finished his porridge. He picked up his cup of tea and sipped happily at the warm liquid. Dori always had been able to make a lovely cup of tea.

“Yes. Sixteen fauntlings all who need occupying and feeding and caring for, for the next few hours. After that most of them will be going home, readying themselves for the Winter Fete and the Feast of Fools that happen in the next couple of days. Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin will probably stay over. Drogo and Primula, Frodo’s parents are trying for another faunt, Sam likes spending time with Frodo when he visits so his parent’s won’t mind him staying over, Merry lives at Brandybuck Hall which is where the Feast of Fools will be happening so less faunts underfoot for a couple of nights is always good and Pippin is always happy to be amongst the lads for a while. Poor Pippin has eight sisters, eight older sisters besides the three coming today so time with other boys is good for him.”

There was a loud crash as one of Bilbo’s plates went crashing to the floor and smashed into several pieces. Spoons  and forks hit the table with a clatter and Bilbo watched in amusement as Fili tipped back on his chair and lay staring up at the ceiling in shock.

“Goodness me. What is with all this?” Bilbo asked in horror.

“Well Laddie. We knew the Shire was a fertile land but we didn’t realise you had this many children. Dwarf children are a rarity. Few Dwarf women and even fewer children. Our pregnancies are long and the child does not often survive. The idea of so many children in one place is a foreign idea to us and has, as you can see overwhelmed a few of our party.”

Bilbo shook his head in disbelief. Dwarves. He would never understand them. So gruff, warriors, sometimes cold but also passionate and tender and caring.

A loud knock came from the front door and Bilbo sighed and rolled his shoulders as he stood. The Dwarves also rose to their feet and lunged towards the hallway like men starved of water.

“Steady!” Bilbo cried as they swept him down the hallway towards the door. A large pair of hands steadied the Hobbit as he wobbled in front of his door. Frodo had also run to the door when the knock came and was now clutching at Bilbo’s trouser leg and shifting from foot to foot in excitement.

Bilbo glanced back and saw Thorin lift his hands away from the Hobbit’s back and the Dwarf’s face seemed to be slightly red.

“My thanks.” Bilbo murmured and then pulled the front door open.

As Bilbo had said there would be fifteen fauntlings stood on Bilbo’s doorstep. Some of their parents all stood further down the steps behind them and many gaped at the sight of Bilbo’s guests. Eglantine Took almost dropped her umbrella at the sight of so many Dwarves. Hamfast Gamgee grinned widely. The Gamgee family all knew beforehand of Bilbo’s guests having heard the tale of his Adventure only the day before and Bell had come rushing back down that evening giggling about the Dwarves in Bilbo’s house. Lily Cotton and her brood were visiting relatives up from Bywater and Bilbo had offered to mind the faunts while Lily caught up with her sisters for a while.

“Come in, Come in!” Bilbo said and stood aside to let the faunts enter his home. The Dwarves parted like water before the awed and intrigued faunts and they towered over the adult Hobbits who came in half expecting the Dwarves to leap upon them.

“Mr Bilbo. Glad to see you up and about. We were mighty worried we were after the events of yesterday. I believe little Marigold has something for you.” Hamfast picked up his youngest and cradled her in his arms. She in turn had a small paper packet clasped in one hand and her thumb was shoved into her mouth and spit was running down over the paper.

“Really?” Bilbo said in a surprised voice. “A present for me? And it’s not even your birthday Marigold. And it isn’t Yule Day yet! How wonderful.”

Marigold giggled and pulled her thumb out of her mouth in order to brandish the packet in Bilbo’s face and accidentally wipe spit all over Bilbo’s curls. The Head of the Baggins family however was used to young faunts and sticky fingers and he didn’t flinch as the wet packet slapped him on the cheek.

Bilbo took the packet with his bandaged fingers and pulled it open and smiled. A bunch of winter flowers had been tied in a posy and the smell of winter and spices filled Bilbo’s nose.

“Thank you.” Bilbo put the posy back in the paper bag and then turned his attention to the adult Hobbits who were standing on the front porch. Lily and Eglantine were smiling at the sight of Bilbo’s full smial. They hadn’t seen Bilbo looking so peaceful in a while.

“You sure you’re alright to mind all the children today? Bell mentioned your hands were burnt. I can take my four if you need a few less children to care for.” Eglantine shrugged as her children began to whine and Pippin clutched Merry’s shoulder.

“Mum!!! I don’t want to go, I want to stay with Frodo and Sam and Merry and Bilbo! I don’t want to spend the whole day with my sisters!” Pippin shuddered and yelped as Pearl raised a fist at her brother.

“Why you little!”

“Enough Pearl. Leave your brother alone.” Bilbos’ voice was stern but kind. “Eglantine it’s fine. You all go on and spend time with your families or preparing for the Winter Festival. I know you all have jobs and things to do.”

The adult Hobbits chuckled as the faunts dived into Bag End with a chorus of whoops and joyous cries.

“Mind my vases!” Bilbo squawked and grinned nervously at the parents who were all looking at Bilbo with knowing and amused eyes. The parents watched as Bilbo seemed to wilt slightly under their gazes and Eglantine chuckled.

“Got to go!” Bilbo said as there was a loud crash and a wail and Bilbo shut the door and scrambled down the Hobbit Hole.

To his bemusement however he found the situation had already been sorted. The chair which had been sent crashing to the floor had been righted. The poor faunt who had been crushed under the chair, Nibs Cotton, was being comforted by Dori who was wiping the faunt’s tears away with strong but kind fingers. Balin and Dwalin had brought the culprits to the side, Hamson, Halfred and Pimpernel and Pervinca who had been arguing about some nonsense or other.

The rest of the faunts were sat on the floor with the Dwarves and were thoroughly interrogating the hardened warriors who were spilling secrets and answers as if a Balrog was chasing them.

Bilbo leaned against the door frame with a bemused smile. Pippin and Merry seemed to have taken a shine to Fili and Kili and Bilbo winced at the concept of four pranksters roaming the halls of his smial.

Marigold had cuddled up with Thorin of all people and Bilbo felt his heart twinge at the sight of the stoic and occasionally grumpy Dwarf carefully holding the tiny faunt in his arms and her small hand buried in the wealth of his beard and her eyes taking in his face with curiosity. Frodo and Sam too were snuggled up with the Dwarf King and Bilbo glanced around for Ori.

The young Dwarf was sat in the edge of the room with his sketchbook in hand and was furiously sketching and glancing up only to take in the room and gain more details and emotions.

“Quite a sight is it not?” Bilbo said softly and sat down next to the young Dwarf. Ori grunted his agreement and used his thumb to smudge a line slightly, blurring a shadow into the face of the Dwarf King. Ori already had the occupants of the room situated and the walls and floor had been sketched in. Now the scribe was adding in details to the faces of faunts and Dwarves.

“I have never seen anything so wonderful.” Ori gushed. “Even Dwalin seems to be relaxing. It’s been such a long time since any of us relaxed, not since the Bat-”

Ori bit of his sentence and glanced worriedly at Bilbo. To his horror the Hobbit had gone deathly pale and was clutching at his chest and wheezing as his breath seemed to be stuck.

“Bilbo!” Ori cried and immediately gained the attention of the room. Thorin was up from the couch and striding across the room, with Marigold still clutched in his arms, in seconds.

“Bilbo?” He said worriedly as he knelt before the Hobbit and raised a worn hand to cup the Hobbit’s face.

“Out the way!” Oin came over and took in Bilbo’s pale face and harsh pants. “Head between your legs lad and just concentrate on Thorin’s voice.”

Oin pressed Bilbo’s head down between his knees and rubbed the Hobbit’s back in slow and firm circles, soothing the tense and locked muscles in Bilbo’s back. Every muscle in his body was tense and ready to spring into action as if Bilbo was contemplating fighting off invisible or unknown assailants.

Thorin glanced at Oin who nodded for the Dwarf King to begin talking to Bilbo. Ori decided at that moment that it was time for the fauntlings to be taken away and distracted and the scribe reached for Marigold who easily left Thorin’s grasp and the Dwarf King nodded briefly in acknowledgement.

Ori led the faunts who were all glancing back worriedly towards where Bilbo was sat with Thorin and Oin towards the dining room which was the only room he knew had enough space for Dwarves and faunts alike even if some of the faunts would have to sit on the table.

“Mister Ori?” Ori felt a tug on his scarf and glanced down to see a worried and upset looking Frodo Baggins.

“Yes Master Frodo?” Ori smiled and held Marigold tighter to his chest as she attempted to wriggle out of his hold and back towards Thorin and Bilbo.

“Is Uncle Bilbo dying?” Frodo’s bottom lip quivered and his eyes welled up with tears as did several of the other faunts who were clutching onto Dwarven trousers and hands. Some of the younger faunts like Pippin, Daisy and Nibs whimpered and clamoured until they were picked up and carried by strong and warm Dwarven hands.

Dwalin found himself carrying Pippin who had crept away from Merry, Fili and Kili and now had his small hands entwined in Dwalin’s beard and was nuzzling his nose on the tattooed Dwarf’s shoulder, probably wiping snot all over Dwalin’s shoulder. The famed warrior said nothing and merely patted the small faunt on the back. Dwalin might not look like the cuddliest or friendliest Dwarf but many people didn’t realise that he had helped Thorin and Dis raise Fili and Kili and was well used to tears and snot by now. In fact Dwalin had a big heart and the sight of a crying child was often enough to make him cry.

“No Master Frodo, Bilbo is not dying. He’s just having something we Dwarves call a panic attack. It happens sometimes after a Dwarf has experienced something scary or upsetting and some things can act as causes for a Dwarf to become scared or frightened even if they are in a safe and warm place.”

“Master Bilbo ain’t no Dwarf!” Hamson said petulantly as the older Dwarves ushered him and his fellows into the dining room and up onto seats or the table. The faunts whilst given permission to sit on the polished wooden table made sure to keep their feet dangling off the edge rather than dirtying it with any mud that may have snuck between their toes.

“No he isn’t.” Ori said as he found himself seated at the head of the table with little Marigold snuggling into his warm woollen cardigan. “But he has seen some pretty amazing and very scary things. What has Bilbo told you of his Adventure?”

Even Ori seemed to be putting emphasis on ‘Adventure’ now as that seemed to be the most common way of describing Bilbo’s flight of fancy in the Shire. The word both magnified and belittled the actual events Ori felt, it made the whole quest seem wondrous and daring and filled it with hope and expectation but at the same time simplified it and didn’t hint at the horror that they had seen nor the torment that had occurred.

“He told me about his Adventure when he came over for supper a few times.” Frodo offered meekly from where he was sat on the table between Fili and Kili who both had their hands being gripped by the faunt in comfort.

“He told us the whole story yesterday.” Hamson said and his siblings nodded except for Sam who blushed and mumbled that he had fallen asleep.

“Well did he tell you about the Battles we had?” Ori asked softly. Of course he wasn’t planning on telling these young faunts everything but he did want to tell them that battles, wars, fighting wasn’t as glorious or spectacular as the stories of old made out.

“Not much. He said that there was a big fight after you reached the mountain.” Hamson said.

“That there were horrible creatures called orcs who wanted to take it from King Thorin.” Daisy Gamgee or as she preferred to be known ‘Dee Gee’ offered and then May took over.

“Mr Bilbo said that the King and the Princes died though. You aren’t dead.”

The Gamgees all turned to look at Fili and Kili whose mouths had dropped open in horror and they were staring at each other with panicked and worried looks.

“Dearie me.” Balin mumbled from where he sat next to Ori. “That’d explain why Master Baggins was so shocked to see Thorin on his doorstep never mind Fili and Kili and the rest of us. He didn’t know we’d all made it out of the Battle alive. I wonder whose fault that was.”

Ori quickly saw the worry and upset faunts becoming even more so and leapt in to quickly distract them.

“Nori could you get my bag from my room?” He asked loudly and the Thief nodded before slipping quietly from the room.

“Well now.” Ori said loudly. All eyes turned to him including those of his fellow Dwarves and Ori resisted the urge to whimper and hide behind Marigold. It wasn’t often Ori held the attention of more than a few Dwarves let alone the Company who was so dear to him but Ori grit his teeth and bucked up. This was something he was good at. Something that none of the other Dwarves in the Company had done or could do.

Nori came back into the room with Ori’s bag and Ori gratefully took the bag and began pulling books and parchment, quills and ink pots and pencils from it.

“Pass the paper and pencils around would you?” He asked Nori again and the Dwarf widened his eyes in understanding before handing each faunt, save for Marigold who was far too young, paper and a pencil.

“Some of you have heard of Master Bilbo’s Adventure but now I’m going to tell you it from a Dwarf’s perspective.”

“What’s pers…perspe...” Bowman Cotton stumbled over the word and blushed as some of the other faunts giggled at his mispronunciation.

“Perspective. It means from a different point of view. You’ve heard the story from Master Bilbo so now you are going to hear it from how I saw it. A different perspective.”

Noises of understanding came from the faunts and vigorous nodding and muttering went on before they settled down to listen to Ori. The Company however watched in amazement as Ori began to talk and the faunts began to listen, the young Dwarf’s voice and story-telling entrancing them and making them lean forward to listen keenly or clutch each other or the nearest Dwarf in shock.

Ori’s books contained various pictures of things from their journey. There were detailed illustrations of the Dwarf settlement in the Blue Mountains which is where the Dwarves story began, sketches of the rooms in Bag End and the view of the Shire from the front door of Bilbo’s smial. Trees and flowers that they had passed on their way out of the Shire and further on their journey. Rivendell had a whole two pages of Ori’s sketchbook dedicated just to the vista which had greeted them when they burst from the tunnel after being chased by Wargs.

It was just as they were travelling through the Misty Mountains and Ori was showing the intrigued and slightly worried faunts a sketch of the Thunder Giants that Bombur suddenly bustled in and demanded that they clean the table off for lunch.

The Dwarves who had been listening just as intently as the faunts jumped at the appearance of the rotund and not particularly stealthy Dwarf’s appearance. It said much for Ori’s story-telling that even the most seasoned warrior’s nor their resident thief had noticed Bombur’s arrival.

“You can carry on your story after lunch.” Bombur said kindly but sternly. Having many mouths to feed himself he knew what hunger could do to a young tummy and the last thing they needed with Bilbo resting was faunts losing their focus and curiosity and tearing around Bag End like Rhosgobel rabbits.

“I’ve made a bacon and egg pie and cooked up some nice winter vegetables and some bread for you all. Now who can tell me where the plates are? Can someone else get the cutlery? Napkins? Cups? Jugs?”

As he spoke Bombur pointed to a Dwarf and a faunt and the pairs went about gathering the necessary things for laying the table for lunch. Rosie and Dori were very careful about placing cloth mats down so that the table wouldn’t get scratched. Daisy Boffin and Nori carried plates from the storage room and began putting them on the table with Nori being very conscious of setting a good example to the small faunt who had to stand on the chairs just to reach the table and didn’t fling the plates around like he would normally when setting the table.   
Dwalin and Pippin and Balin and Bowman carried in jugs full of winter juice and water and put them down, well Balin and Dwalin did with Bowman carrying a slightly smaller jug. Poor Pippin tried to help but the jugs were all far too big and too heavy for such a small faunt but he was satisfied with helping Dwalin carry his jug (Ori’s fingers had itched to sketch the sight of the warrior carrying the faunt who was carrying the jug and Dwalin’s hand had also been wrapped around the jug so that there was no chance of dropping faunt or vessel). Bifur and Pearl had brought the cutlery in and laid it down next to the plates with the young Took chatting away happily to the mute Dwarf and him listening intently and grunting a vague noise of assent or dissent to her questions.

Frodo and Sam had commandeered Fili and Kili to help them with the napkins and so the two Dwarf princes found themselves collecting the linen cloths and folding them to very neat and precise instructions from the two young faunts. Never before had Ori seen the two Princes acting so seriously and concentrating so hard on something so menial and small.

Finally Bombur brought in the pie and the bowls with steaming veg, a pot of gravy and basket of cut and buttered bread being carried in by the two oldest faunts Hamson and Halfred. The last thing to go on the table were the cups which the twins Pervinca and Pimpernel handed to the Dwarf sat next to a fauntling and they proceeded to pour juice or water according to the faunt’s preference.

Ori wondered in astonishment at how they had managed to fit ten fully grown (and more than fully grown in Bombur’s case) Dwarves and sixteen fauntlings around the table but they had succeeded even if some faunts were perched in the laps of Dwarves and the Dwarves whose laps were occupied were eating over the heads of the faunts, being extremely careful not to drop hot food or gravy on their small heads.

It was a sight and a half and Ori found himself cuddling Marigold so tightly she squealed and giggled with laughter as he rubbed his large nose in her soft golden curls.

“This is quite the sight.” A tired voice said from the doorway and the Company and Faunts turned to look at Bilbo who was leaning wearily against a concerned and nervous Thorin. Obviously Bilbo had come down from his panic attack but his nerves were shattered and his body weary once more.

Ori noticed with keen eyes the amount of weight Bilbo was putting on Thorin and how the Dwarf King was standing straight and tall with his arm wrapped tenderly but firmly around their Hobbit’s waist.

“Indeed it is Master Baggins.” Ori said and smiled. “Will you be joining us for lunch?”

Bilbo opened his mouth with an expression on his face that told everyone watching that he was about to refuse when Oin cut in.

“Of course the lad is going to eat. Get him a seat and a small bit of Bombur’s pie. Vegetables too and a nice cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss.”

The Dwarves sprang into action, Bifur bringing in Uncle Mungo’s antique chair which Bilbo sank into gratefully putting up no fight against sitting in an antiquity, Dori vanished into the kitchen to make tea and Bofur plated up some pie and veg and drizzled it with a small serving of gravy before putting it down in front of the Company’s burglar.

Thorin too sat but on the opposite side of the table and watched intently as Bilbo sighed wearily and began to cut his pie and veg, slowly chewing each bite before cutting another.

Once satisfied that the Hobbit was eating Thorin and Oin began to eat the leftovers that remained, neither Dwarf particularly caring that their portions were as small as Bilbo’s for they were much too concerned about Bilbo.

“Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo’s voice rang out in the hushed silence that seemed to have fallen at the arrival of Bilbo and the Dwarf King. Indeed several of the faunts were staring at Bilbo and Thorin with awe and worship on their faces. The only one who didn’t look star struck was young Frodo whose blue eyes nervously took in his Uncle’s weary visage and pale skin.

“Yes Frodo?” Bilbo smiled weakly and ran a hand through the faunt’s dark curls.

“Are you alright now?”

“Of course dear boy. Just a momentary affliction. Nothing to worry about. Master Oin here is one of the best Healers in all of Middle Earth. It seems he can raise the dead if he chose to.”

Bilbo’s words cut into the heart of every Dwarf gathered around the table and Fili and Kili flinched away from the older Hobbit. Thorin swallowed nervously and glanced around to see the grieved and wounded faces of his Company turning from his own. Not even Balin would look at the King.

“What do you mean Master Baggins?” Thorin rumbled finally. Bilbo shook his head and shovelled another forkful of pie into his mouth.

“It appears Thorin, that there was a misunderstanding about the full extent of your and the Princes’ injuries.” Balin began slowly and diplomatically.

“Uncle Bilbo thought you and Fili and Kili were dead.” Frodo said bluntly and he stared at Thorin as the Dwarf King sprayed water across the table. Luckily there hadn’t been too much liquid in his mouth and only his plate and a little bit of the table got splattered.

“Dead?” Thorin said hoarsely and he looked at Bilbo with haunted eyes.

“I think however lads, that might be a conversation you want to have later on and away from prying and young ears.” Balin hurriedly said and gestured to the Company who were leaning forward trying to hear and to the faunts who were turning their gaze from Bilbo and Thorin as if they were watching a conker swing on a string.

“Good idea Master Balin.” Ori said in a forcefully cheerful voice. “And I have to continue the story do I not children?”

There was a sudden clamouring as the faunts all begged Ori to continue his tale.

“Of course. Where was I?” Ori said relieved that neither Bilbo nor Thorin spoke against this suggestion.

Nibs Cotton gladly informed Ori of where he had gotten up to in the story and Ori began to weave his words once more leading the faunts down through Goblin Town, facing down Azog for the first time, soaring through the sky on giant eagles, dining with the giant shape shifter Beorn and his strange animals, through the dim and murky trees of Mirkwood and the enchanted river that sent any who touched it’s waters into a deep slumber, through the cold but beautiful halls and dungeons of the Elf King, into Lake Town after a thrilling barrel ride and meeting a Bowman (which delighted the young faunt named Bowman who then professed that he would be learning to shoot a bow now so that he could be like Bard), finding the hidden door and waiting for Bilbo to return only to end up fighting a live dragon.

Bilbo had shuddered at the mention of Smaug and Dori had trotted away to collect Ori’s blanket that the Hobbit had been wrapped up in the previous night. The faunts had been drawing throughout Ori’s story and there were piles of parchment on the cleared table that had various imaginings of the things that Ori had been saying and describing newly pictured through the minds of the faunts. 

Frodo had taken up residence on the seat next to his Uncle and was leaning into the older Hobbit’s side and gently rubbing his little hand on Bilbo’s arm every time he felt the bigger Hobbit shiver or shudder. Marigold had returned back to Thorin’s arms and was listening to Ori talk with her hand woven into Thorin’s beard and clutching one of his braids in her other hand. Ori even thought that the tip of the braid had made it into the faunt’s mouth a couple of times.

When the Battle came around Ori glanced nervously at Bilbo wary of starting describing the Battle in case it sent Bilbo into a panic attack. Luckily for Ori Bilbo had fallen asleep and was curled up in the antique chair with Frodo wrapped up in his arms under the blanket. Frodo wasn’t asleep but when he saw Ori glance in their direction the faunt seemed to suddenly age and become wiser than his young years.

“You can carry on Master Ori. Uncle Bilbo is fast asleep.” Frodo said softly and glanced up at Bilbo’s face. The old Hobbit looked far more relaxed than he had when he was awake. His face was smooth and free from worry and he looked younger than he had since the Adventure began.

Ori smiled softly at Frodo before carrying on. The Battle was a sore topic for all the Dwarves and some of them stiffened and flexed their hands as if grasping for weapons whilst others (Fili and Kili) rubbed at recently acquired scars and wounds that were only just healed.

The faunts’ scribbling and drawing grew to a slow and a final deadly halt as Ori’s story grew more sombre. Of course Ori didn’t go into massive detail of how Azog tried to impale Fili, how Bolg slashed at Kili’s face and then tried to behead the Dwarf Prince with a rusty chain. Nor did he mention how Thorin took blow after blow from Azog as they stood upon the frozen waterfall of Ravenhill. Nor how the pale orc had driven his bladed arm into the Dwarf King’s chest and tried to carve a defiling ‘A’ into the King as he lay prone and dazed on the ice until Bilbo ran dazedly at the pale orc and cut Azog’s arm with his trusty Sting. Ori glossed over how Thorin rose up when Bilbo was knocked aside and swung Orcrist up and sliced the orc’s head from his neck.

Ori did try and impart how the battle wasn’t glorious or spectacular. That it didn’t end with all surviving. Tauriel had not made it to the end of the Battle. Nor had several of Bard’s men. There had been other losses in the Dwarf army that Dain brought and Thranduil had lost so many elves to the hordes of orcs. Beorn the skin changer had lost an eye and an arm in the battle and Lord Gwaihir’s eagles had reduced numbers after the Battle.

Even before the Battle there had been injuries and losses as Smaug burned Lake Town and set the water aflame. Little Tilda, Bard’s youngest daughter had received horrible burns to her back and face and the entire Company had found themselves distraught at the disfigurement that the young girl bore so stoically and so innocently.

The faunts fell silent and some of the girls even shed a few tears for the tale.

“But King Thorin didn’t die. Neither did Fili and Kili.” Merry pointed out from his place between Bifur and the youngest prince.

“No they didn’t. Their wounds kept them in a deep sleep for several months and we feared they would never wake until one day King Thorin woke and Prince Kili followed soon after. Prince Fili was the last to return to the waking world just in time to see his mother arrive at Erebor and the true work of reclaiming our mountain from the ravages of the dragon began.”

Frodo wriggled out of his Uncle Bilbo’s grasp and marched over to where Ori was.

“How come none of you ever wrote to Uncle Bilbo? You made him sad, you made him think Thorin and the princes were dead. You are all horrible.” Frodo’s eyes spilled with tears as the true realisation of what could have happened to his eccentric, odd but beloved Uncle Bilbo settled in.

“I can only apologise Master Frodo.” Thorin rumbled as he answered the distraught faunt. “It was never mine, nor any of my Company’s intentions to cause Bilbo such distress. We believed he did not want to see us. That he had returned to the Shire without saying goodbye because he was disgusted with our behaviour, with my behaviour and that he could not bear to look at us, me.”

Thorin stumbled over his words and rubbed his weary face with a heavy hand. Little Marigold stood up in his lap and to the astonishment of the Dwarf King she petted his cheek with her little hand.

“There, there. There, there.” Marigold Gamgee said in a sweetly high voice as she imitated her mother when the faunt fell and cut her knee or scraped her hands. Thorin chuckled lightly at her ministrations and rubbed his nose on hers. His hands had risen to hover behind her back in case she tumbled from his lap and she sank back into them, sure that the Dwarf King would catch her.

“Well now. Whilst our story doesn’t end happily for everyone it did for our Company. We all survived and have been changed for the better for it.” Ori smiled at the faunts and their faces turned eagerly and expectantly to his.

“May I see the drawings you all have made?” Ori asked nervously as he feared rejection. He wrung his mittened hands together as he waited for the faunts verdict. If they said no then he couldn’t have been telling the story very well.

“I should very much like to see them too.” Bilbo said as he unfolded himself from the chair. All eyes snapped to him and he rolled his own in exasperation.

“How long have you been awake Master Boggins?” Kili asked nervously. The young prince bit his lip and chewed it as he waited for Bilbo’s answer.

“Long enough Kili.” Bilbo said softly and smiled fondly at the two princes who sighed and sagged with relief into their chairs. Bifur chuckled and rubbed his hands in Merry’s hair as he scrambled out from between the two collapsing princes and over Fili’s lap and into the mute Dwarf’s lap.

“You can look at my picture Master Ori.” Nibs Cotton offered shyly and the Estella Bolger crept up to stand next to Nibs with her paper held out and her bottom lip being held between her teeth nervously.

“Thank you children.” Ori said relieved that they had been listening and his tale had sparked their imagination. That was what Ori wanted. When people read or heard his words, when they saw his sketches he wanted their minds to see the things, places, people and go beyond that. He hadn’t shown them any of the pictures of the inside of Erebor because they no longer existed. Ori was ashamed to admit it but he at first like all the other Dwarves had been overwhelmed and consumed by the gold and all the sketches he had of the Kingdom within the Mountain were of pieces of treasure or the room in which the treasure was piled. That had been before he had snapped out of the gold lust however and after that his sketches had made him sick at the sight of the loving and greedy detail with which he had drawn treasure items.

One particular vile drawing had been of a simple necklace, a gold chain with several amethysts dangling down from it. They had been tiny semi-precious stones, the off cuts and shards from a bigger and more valuable rock but the necklace within which they had been set had entranced Ori and he had found that he had spent hours not mere minutes on the simple sketch. The pencil had been worn down to a stub on that one drawing and pencil ash had been smeared across his face and hands and neck as he had rubbed his sweaty skin with the pencil ash engrained in his skin.

All those sketches had been burnt. Torn from his sketchbook leaving only the things they had seen before, Lake Town, Thranduil’s Kingdom, Beorn’s home, Rivendell, The Shire within its pages. Ori had flung them down upon the campfire and watched in both horror and fascination as they burned and his gut churned.

The faunts having not seen Erebor had drawn childish and naïve pictures of the Dwarf Kingdom and to Ori and the Company’s utter delight not a single drawing was of the treasure room or an imagining of the gold that lay within. Some had drawn the mountain and the great statues that stood sentinel at its gate. Others had drawn the Hall of Kings which now had a floor of gold where they had attempted to destroy the dragon Smaug. Other drawings were of the kitchens, the forges, the mines, the rooms where the Royal family had resided. Anything and everything but the treasure room.

Ori peered through all the drawings and then coughed lightly before asking the faunts a question that all the Dwarves desperately wanted to know the answer to.

“These are wonderful drawings children. But why have none of you drawn the treasure room?”

The Dwarves watched eagerly as the faunts glanced at each other and thought long and hard.

“Why would we?” Samwise said. “Gold isn’t interesting.”

“It doesn’t keep you warm in winter.” May Gamgee said.

“You can’t fill your belly with it.” Daisy Boffin licked her lips and stared longingly towards the kitchen.

“You can’t cuddle it during thunderstorms.” Pimpernel Took said and then her sister continued her train of thought as the twins were wont to do. “And you can’t sing songs with it to drown out the thunder.”

Frodo looked at Thorin and saw the fragile disbelief, grief, sorrow and regret on the Dwarf King’s face.

“Gold cannot buy you love.” The young Baggins said and Thorin looked at him, ice blue eyes staring into the younger river blue eyes. Thorin nodded his head in acknowledgement.

Bilbo chuckled at the stunned, awed and humbled faces of the Dwarves.

“Hobbits value good food, a warm hearth, cheer of family and friends, songs that chase away bad things and thoughts. We have no need for gold or precious gems. All our precious things are each other and our home.”

The Dwarves shook their heads and Bofur let out an astonished whistle that was sharp and piercing.

“Hobbits. Gandalf was right. They’ll always amaze you.”

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

After a hearty tea with cakes and little sandwiches and tea for the grown-ups and milk for the faunts their parents began to arrive and collect them to bring them home for supper and bed.

The snowy lanes of Hobbiton rang that night with the excited chatter and re-enactments of fauntlings pretending to be great Dwarven Kings and Princes and Warriors on a noble quest to slay a dragon but that was only after they had all agreed that nobody would be left behind and that the treasure (Bell Gamgee’s freshly baked cookies were the treasure in the Gamgee home) wasn’t important.

Bilbo’s home was quite a different story however with only four faunts remaining for this night, the next day and the following night until the Winter Fete in two days’ time. The four hobbits who remained were Merry, Pippin, Sam and Frodo whom were all ecstatic at being able to spend more time with Ori. They had taken to following the young Dwarf around like chicks following a hen and pestering him with questions and asking to see his sketches over and over again.

Bilbo had been relegated to his comfy armchair in the living room and he watched with a heart full to bursting as Sam settled down with one of Ori’s plant sketchbooks in Oin’s lap and the young aspiring gardener discussed the various medicinal plants and herbs with the only Dwarf apart from Ori and Bifur who had a vague interest in herbology.

Merry had found himself intrigued by Bofur and Bifur’s carving skills and was sat at a table with a knife and a chunk of wood carefully carving out a figure or animal with Bofur’s help. The funny-hatted Dwarf had the Brandybuck faunt in his lap and his large hand wrapped firmly around Merry’s so as to guide the knife and prevent little fingers being injured.

Pippin was besotted with Dwalin and was scrambling all over the warrior Dwarf trying to discover every last tattoo and pull their meanings from the normally gruff Dwarf. Bilbo only hoped that Dwalin would keep some of the ones the older Hobbit knew existed from shared bathing in streams and rivers private. Bilbo really didn’t fancy having to explain to Eglantine Took why her faunt wanted to know what, whatever the Dwarven name for private parts was in Hobbit phrase.

The last faunt was Frodo. Bilbo’s dear and sweet nephew who had remained faithfully by his uncle’s side until well after supper. Then Frodo’s innate curiosity and kindness had drawn him over to Thorin. Bilbo wasn’t a fool. He knew Frodo, Primula and Drogo knew that Bilbo had feelings for the King Under the Mountain.

Many times Frodo had asked Bilbo after their afternoon nap who Thorin was and Bilbo had always been vague and dismissive hoping to bury the King under the Mountain’s name deep in his heart and mind. In conscious speech Bilbo never referred to Erebor’s King by his chosen name (Thorin Oakenshield) but always as King under the Mountain or Lord of Silver Fountains or King of the Seven Dwarf Kingdoms. Never as Thorin though.

Frodo was sat next to Thorin in the Big People sized armchair that sat in the corner of Bilbo’s living room and only got dragged out when Rangers or Gandalf visited. The King was answering Frodo’s every question and letting the faunt touch Orcrist, his armour, his hair and his beads. In fact Bilbo chuckled to himself at the sight, he didn’t think Thorin would say no to anything the faunt asked. It was quite clear the Thorin was equally besotted and mesmerised by Frodo Baggins and Bilbo shook his head and sipped his tea.

“It’s quite the sight is it not?” Ori’s soft voice said from where he was sat curled up at the foot of Bilbo’s chair with his head leaning against the Hobbit’s knee, a heavy but comforting presence through the woollen blanket.

“Indeed. I did not think to see him nor any of you again.” Bilbo replied softly and felt rather than saw Ori bury his face into Bilbo’s knee.

“We could never leave you Bilbo. Never. You are one of us and I’m afraid you’re stuck with that forever.”

Bilbo stared around at his decorated smial, the Yule Tree standing tall and proud and being inspected by Dori and Nori. Fili and Kili lounging like cats next to the fire and talking softly to each other with their foreheads pressed together. Balin was smoking his pipe in a comfy armchair by the fire and reading a book borrowed from Bilbo’s study. His smial was full of laughter and chatter and cheer and Bilbo had not felt so happy in Yule time for many long and lonely years.

He smiled and patted Ori’s soft hair causing the Dwarf to look up at him. Bilbo looked at Ori and then whispered hopefully and hesitantly:

“I could live with forever.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want any other pairings besides Thilbo?   
> I'm currently leaning towards a Fili/Female Hobbit pairing at the moment but I don't know if that's a good idea or not. I'm also partial to a bit of Fili/Sigrid....   
> Let me know if you have any preferences!


	4. Dwalin and the Battle for Bag End (otherwise known as Dwalin and the Battle for Biscuits)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found listening to ‘Russian Trepak’ by Tchaikovsky during the “Battle” worked quite nicely and ‘Winter’ by Vivaldi fits the end of the chapter quite pleasantly. The rest of the chapter I was just listening to Christmas music!

The Hobbit: A Dwarf is for Life not Just for Christmas

Chapter 4  
Dwalin and the Battle for Bag End (otherwise known as Dwalin and the Battle for Biscuits)

* * *

Dwalin often wondered if all Peoples of Middle Earth were idiots. Of course he acknowledged whole-heartedly that he wasn’t the brightest flame in a fire but still, the things he heard sometimes made him wonder.

One of his favourite expressions was “When you assume you make an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’.” (In fact Dwalin thought that was one of his cleverer phrases). He was often surprised how many random strangers and occasionally close friends made assumptions about him. Assumptions were often made about him within his presence and normally ended badly for the party making them. A particularly satisfying brawl had broken out in a pub when a Man had said that Dwalin was too tall for a Dwarf and that his mother was probably a Human and that Dwalin was a half-breed freak. Never mind the fact that Dwalin and Balin had been introduced to the Man as brothers and Balin was quite comfortably within the average height for a Dwarf. Dwalin had relished his fist sinking into that particular Man’s nose especially as the Man had been quite tall and if Dwalin had been the average height of a Dwarf he never would have been able to feel the satisfying crunch of the Man’s nose crunching under Dwalin’s knuckles.

Another assumption the Peoples of Middle Earth made was that because Dwalin was a heavily tattooed warrior, tall, silent most of the time, grumpy looking and not especially articulate when it came to benign chit chat that he was also unintelligent and rather thick. This was not the case at all. He was no academic like Balin or learned scholar like Ori or even a good wordsmith like Bilbo Baggins but Dwalin did have life smarts and experience which he had learnt from. Every situation, every fight, every embarrassing encounter with the opposite sex, every hangover had taught Dwalin something or other about life.

For example he had learnt never to sleep without at least two weapons within his reach or even better within his sheets. An enemy attacking at night would probably expect one weapon but they rarely avoided the second. The same went for weapons. Always have one weapon on show and another hidden from sight (that particular trick Dwalin had learnt from a certain thief who was well-known to all but shall remain nameless) so when you are captured or fighting if you lose the visible weapons you have a chance to keep or use the ones hidden about your person. Some Dwarves Dwalin knew took this to the extreme with several knives, daggers and other pointy, sharp and deadly objects scattered about their persons (Nori and Fili) but Dwalin couldn’t be doing with that. Subtleties were not one of his strongest characteristics so Dwalin made do with a dagger, a garrotte wire and a small hand-axe hidden within his clothing so that in the unlikely situation that he lost both Grasper and Keeper (his axes) and his Warhammer the seasoned warrior had some weapon of sort to fall back on. And if he lost all his weapons there were his fists which were just as deadly and more often than not adorned with vicious and bone-breaking knuckle dusters.

Another thing Dwalin had learnt from his many years was when someone was trying to sneak up on him. It took great, great weariness for Dwalin to fall so deeply asleep that he was unaware of his surroundings. He slept quite lightly for a Dwarf and was not a notably loud snorer so on his second morning in Bag End he was quite aware of the door to his and Nori’s room in Bag End slowly and tentatively being opened before the door had even swung an inch. He was also fully aware of exactly whom the-would-be intruder or assailant was and he knew that Nori had also noticed the interloper and had dismissed them as a potential threat. The Thief Dwarf had fallen back asleep mere seconds after waking and assessing the person sneaking at their door so Dwalin was pretty sure he could handle the tiny person trying to creep up to his bed on small, furry feet in a rather loud and clumsy manner.

Dwalin rolled over loudly in his bed and shuffled around deliberately making noise. To his amusement the intruder paused in his progress towards Dwalin’s bed and the Dwarf opened one eye into a thin slit and saw Pippin Took frozen midway on the carpet. Dwalin supressed a chuckled and sighed deeply as if falling back into a deep slumber.

The soft pads of bare Hobbit feet returned and Dwalin could almost see in his mind’s eye Pippin’s progress towards him. Only a few steps more and the fauntling was slowly scrambling onto Dwalin’s bed near the Dwarf’s feet (a place no sane person should be because really the stench of Dwarven feet was one of the more unsavoury things in life. It came from wearing boots all the time, the feet couldn’t breathe and so they ended up smelling like mouldy cheese or at least that’s what Pippin thought they smelt like) then Pippin slowly crawled up between the Dwarf’s back and the wall, slithering and squeezing past Dwalin’s bulk until he was kneeling by the Dwarf’s heavily tattooed head.

Tiny fingers began to trace the tattoos on Dwalin’s bald scalp. Following the square lines and harsh angles of Dwarvish script and the pictures that only Dwalin truly knew the meaning to. Pippin’s fingers then quested further down Dwalin’s face, exploring the differences between Hobbit and Dwarven structure. The scar that crossed through Dwalin’s right eyebrow was a great source of interest to Pippin and he spent several long minutes running his fingertips along the edges and centre of the healed wound before progressing to Dwalin’s crooked but still large nose.

The Dwarf was quite content to let the scamp puzzle out and understand the differences between Dwarf and Hobbit kind but it was when Pippin’s fingers made to delve into Dwalin’s thick and bushy beard that the Dwarf drew a line. Moving silently (without his usual battle cry at least) Dwalin surged up and wrapped his arms around Pippin’s waist and pulled the Hobbit over his shoulder and into his lap as he sat up.

Pippin squealed like a piglet as he was caught and Nori groaned from the other side of the room and threw a pillow at Dwalin’s bed in a pitiful attempt to silence the noise Dwalin would enjoy boasting later how Nori’s pathetic throw had only landed a mere foot away from the Thief’s own bed which would lead to a pillow fight later that night (between the entire Company and the fauntlings who were surprisingly good at pillow fights and had soon reduced the Company to their knees, all the while Bilbo had scurried around shrieking about not destroying all the pillows in the smial but that is not the battle you wish to hear about is it?).

“Hush up lad. I won’t hurt you.” Dwalin mumbled into Pippin’s pointed ear and the frantically wriggling faunt went limp in the Dwarf’s hold.

Dwalin huffed in amusement as Pippin stared up at him with impossibly big green eyes. After a split second of awed wonder Pippin gave a cheeky grin and clambered up Dwalin’s arm to straddle the Dwarf’s shoulders and wrap his arms around the bald head so as to hold on tight when Dwalin began to move.

“You settled?” Dwalin looked up as far as eyes could roll in his head and saw Pippin lean over the top of his head and give a gap-toothed grin. Nimbly Dwalin slid out of the bed with the faunt swaying and giggling on his shoulders. Dwalin didn’t bother putting his boots on as the smial was warm and dry and he didn’t think they’d be leaving to go outside any time before elevenses.

Pippin kept his giggles muted until they were in the hallway of Bag End and Dwalin had shut the door to his shared bedroom. Then the faunt burst into high-pitched laughter and tugged on Dwalin’s head.

“I’m not a pony lad. Use words to ask not tug on the precious hair I have left!” Dwalin growled but there was no menace in his voice only exasperation.

“To my bedroom!” Pippin cried and pointed to the room further down the hallway. It was only two doors down from Dwalin’s own bedroom but in that time Pippin managed to shove his foot in Dwalin’s mouth (little hairy feet did not taste nice) pull back on Dwalin’s nose with his small fingers (that were very strong for such a small child) and Dwalin wondered briefly it was just spit in his hair or whether it was honey.

Dwalin pushed the door to the faunt sized room open with a sigh of relief. He walked into the room and yelped in a very Dwarf-like way when Pippin let go of his head and hung down his back only holding onto Dwalin by his legs which were choking the Dwarf.

“Right that’s enough out of you!” Dwalin said and reached up and untangled Pippin’s legs from his neck and held the faunt away from him by one leg. “What made you wake up so blessed early anyway?”

Dwalin glanced at the four faunt sized beds and noted Samwise sat up and wide awake in his small bed with a book of medicinal plants spread out on his lap. The aspiring gardener was mumbling the names of the plants and tracing the drawings and words with his finger. Merry was just waking up but during the night he had wrapped himself up thoroughly in his blankets and was poking out from the sheets with a confused and rather adorable expression on his face. He looked rather like a mouse poking out from a mound of cloth as his nose twitched and wrinkled as he rubbed sleepy dust from his eyes.

“Wait a minute. Aren’t there four of you?” Dwalin said as he looked at the last bed. It had been slept in at some point during the night but when Dwalin placed his hand wide spread over the mattress it was ice cold.

“Cousin Frodo went into Cousin Bilbo’s room.” Pippin giggled from his upside down position from Dwalin’s hand.

Dwalin pulled Pippin up to stare at the now bright red faunt’s face. Pippin went still and serious when he saw the confused expression on Dwalin’s face.

“They’re both your cousins?”

Pippin nodded.

“Frodo is Bilbo’s cousin too! Frodo is Bilbo’s cousin one time removed but they are also second cousins one time removed. Merry is Frodo’s cousin too! Let me get this right, they are first cousins one times removed.  Frodo is my second cousin one times removed. I think that’s right.”

Merry blinked sleepily from his nest and when Pippin twisted in Dwalin’s grasp to look at his cousin Merry nodded and grunted in the affirmative. Pippin puffed up in pride and nodded up at Dwalin. The Dwarf finally took pity on Pippin and righted the faunt and held him in one arm.

“That is rather confusing.” Dwalin said deadpan. Pippin nodded sagely. There was a tug on Dwalin’s trouser leg and he peered down over Pippin’s curly head to see Samwise standing at his knee. Sighing Dwalin crouched down and scooped Sam up into his other arm. Before he could right himself however there was a slight weight flung onto his back and small hands grasped his head once more but this time there was also the sensation of wool draped around his head and shoulders.

Merry grumbled as he got settled on Dwalin’s shoulders and then moaned slightly as the Dwarf stood upright but barely seconds later the Brandybuck faunt was fast asleep.

“Can we go see Mr Bilbo and Mr Frodo?” Sam asked Dwalin and Pippin ‘mmmed’ in agreement.

“Fine.” Dwalin grunted and then made his way to the next door. He glanced at a clock in the hallway and noticed with a wince that it was only half seven in the morning. For a moment he dithered about whether to take the three faunts into the kitchen and try and occupy them for a little while before deciding it would be better for Bilbo to supervise.

Dwalin was quite apt at monitoring and baby-sitting Dwarflings but they tended to be sturdy and hardier than fauntlings appeared to be. Having the guidance of an adult Hobbit would be wisest Dwalin decided.

He rapped softly on Bilbo’s bedroom door and for a moment missed the booming noise that would have occurred had he been wearing his knuckle dusters. Just when Dwalin feared he would have to knock again and louder there was a soft ‘Enter’ and Dwalin turned the door knob and ducked into the room with his passengers clinging to him as he was forced to enter the slightly smaller doorway.

It seems when Bungo Baggins built Bag End he made the doors to the common areas, such as the kitchen, living room, dining room and front door quite a bit bigger so as to allow free movement and passage for any taller guests. The private bedrooms such as the one that used to be Bilbo’s and the master bedroom which Bilbo now used had slightly smaller doorways. Dwalin supposed it was to discourage visitors from entering their private rooms but it did make it mighty awkward for Dwalin with his fauntling shaped growths to enter through the small aperture.

“Good Morning Master Dwalin.” Bilbo said drowsily and amusedly as Dwalin finally righted himself and stood to his full height. “I hope you slept well although it seems you have been disturbed by several faunts. If they are irritating or causing you trouble just send them my way.”

Dwalin shook his head and chuckled.

“Master Peregrin’s wake-up call was far quieter than how Fili and Kili used to wake me. My nose isn’t crooked just from fighting Master Baggins. More than twice Fili broke it with his knee and Kili’s snapped it once with his fist and another time with a heavy boot. I think I can handle a few small Hobbits.”

Bilbo chuckled and stretched slowly from where he still lay in bed. Dwalin would have thought Bilbo rude for not getting up and greeting his guest were Dwalin not a practical Dwarf and a friend. It was obvious that Bilbo was having a wee bit of difficulty moving due to Frodo clinging onto him like moss on stone or blood to skin.

Dwalin had to admit the sight was quite endearing as Bilbo looked incredibly relaxed and rested despite his still bandaged hands. Frodo’s face was serene and calm and he was making soft snuffling sounds as he breathed lightly.

“Well as long as Master Dwalin doesn’t mind you crawling all over him that’s fine.” Bilbo said to Samwise and Peregrin who both looked at Bilbo with equally faked innocent looks. “But if he does tell you not to do it any more I expect you to do as he says, is that understood?”

“Completely Uncle Bilbo!” Merry suddenly said and Dwalin jumped as the almost comatose fauntling abruptly woke completely and began to sweet talk Bilbo into getting up and out of bed and making breakfast.

“You make a persuasive argument Merry my lad.” Bilbo groaned as he slid from the bed in only his night shirt. Dwalin turned to face the wall and give Bilbo some privacy although both Dwarf and gentle-Hobbit had seen each other in far more extreme states of undress and disarray on their journey.

“Are you up to helping me feed the rabble Master Dwalin? Only I’m afraid my skills with a frying pan won’t be what they normally are, my hands being bandaged and all.” Bilbo placed a hand on Dwalin’s bulging forearm as he held both Pippin and Sam.

Dwalin turned to face the older Hobbit once more and noticed Frodo cradled in one arm of his cousin/uncle with the faunt’s head lolling around on Bilbo’s shoulder.

“I’d be more than happy to help Master Baggins, so long as you stop calling me Master. We’ve been through enough together and seen and faced many a strange thing that we can dispense with the formalities. You were calling me Dwalin whilst we were in Lake Town and after that so no need to get all formal on me again.”

Bilbo chuckled and shifted Frodo so that the faunt wasn’t weighing so heavily on his hands and nodded his head.

“Of course Dwalin. You must call me Bilbo too.”

Dwalin grunted and then led the way out of the master bedroom and towards the kitchen. Pippin and Merry were babbling away to each other as he walked and Sam was hanging over his arm, peering back at Frodo who was still fast asleep. Despite the ruckus and frequent shifting of the small and slippery faunts, not once did Bilbo worry that Dwalin would drop them and the older Hobbit found himself supressing belly-rolling laughter as the Dwarf managed to juggle and swap faunts around until all three were in his arms but Sam was able to hang over his shoulder and wave at Bilbo from the Dwarf’s back.

“Only in my smial.” Bilbo said exasperatedly and smiled happily at the already eventful morning. And it was only quarter to eight!

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

After first breakfast Bilbo and Dwalin divided the faunts into pairs; Frodo and Sam, Merry and Pippin and took them into the bathrooms so that they could get the now awake and hyperactive faunts washed and dressed for the day.

Dwalin took Merry and Pippin into one of the three guest bathrooms, one which was Hobbit/Dwarf sized and not the Big Folk sized bathroom, and helped the two faunts wriggle out of their nightclothes and jump in the bath. The warm water ended up both all over the floor and all over Dwalin and whilst the faunts were drying off and putting on the new clothes Bilbo had dropped off before he had gone to attend to Frodo and Sam, Dwalin found a bucket and mop and cleaned the overspill from the floor and changed his own clothes after a brief wash.

Merry and Pippin had asked why Dwalin hadn’t taken a bath and the Dwarf had hummed and haahed before explain the Dwarves felt better when they had a thin layer of dirt on their skin when they were not under the protection of a mountain. He didn’t mention that Dwarves only bathed once or twice a week when they were living in comfort (more often of course in hot weather as sweaty Dwarf is rather pungent a smell).

By the time the Dwarf and five Hobbits were having second breakfast the Company had begun to awaken. Bofur was the first into the dining room and after scarfing down a medium sized bowl of porridge and a couple of pastries he announced that he would be down at his caravan for the day getting ready for the Winter Fete tomorrow.

Bilbo’s interest was sparked as it had been many a year since the Winter Fete had, had any crafts save for Hobbit make at the many stalls and games.

“Your leader, the Thain was it? Well he said as we were staying so long we could take the time to sell our wares at the market and the Fete. I’ve got to make sure all my carvings and stones are ready to be sold and I’m working on a wee project for the little ones, can’t say more now as there might be spies lurking around.” Bofur had explained very quickly and then winked jovially at the four fauntlings who immediately began whispering to each other and glancing up at the funny hatted Dwarf.

“Old Took does like a bit of interest, especially as it’s been such a cold winter. It’ll help keep Hobbits minds off the Brandywine.” Bilbo muttered almost absently and both Dwalin and Bofur were intrigued but before they could ask more Bofur noticed the time and let out a yelp before dashing down the hallway and out the front door.

The rest of the Company soon arrived after that in various states of readiness for the coming day. Fili and Kili came to the dining table both still half asleep with their hair sticking up every which way. By contrast their Uncle came in dressed simply but wearing his thick winter coat and boots.

Thorin smiled tentatively at Bilbo and relaxed almost immediately when the older Hobbit returned with a bright and happy smile. It seemed that Bilbo had decided not to interrogate or hold a grudge against the Thickest-Headed-And-Emotionally-Constipated-Dwarven-King-Who-Had-Ever-Ruled-Under-The-Mountain.  By contrast Frodo seemed to still have issues with Thorin and when the Dwarven King went to sit by Bilbo the faunt scrambled up from his own seat and lunged into Bilbo’s lap headfirst.

Bilbo recovered admirably from the head-butt and settled Frodo on his lap comfortably. Dwalin sniggered as the older Hobbit seemed oblivious to the glares and evil looks Frodo was sending Thorin and the confused and timid expressions the Dwarf King was making.

It wasn’t often Dwalin saw his King bested and the fact that it was such a tiny faunt made it all the sweeter to witness.

The Dwarves, save for Bofur and Bombur and Gloin who were still staying with their families, were finally all seated around the dining table and attempting to eat second breakfast whilst three of the fauntlings who had stayed overnight were running around, crashing into each other, getting under heavy foot and occasionally getting jammy hands all over beards and clothes when the Dwarves picked them up to move them out the way or snatch them from being stomped on.

“Too much energy.” Dwalin said. He’d seen this plenty of times in Fili and Kili. Whenever Thorin or Dis had made them stay in and have lessons without any time to run wild, to hunt or spar and even more so now that they had princely duties to attend in Erebor. Despite being adults, young adults that is, Fili and Kili still acted like Dwarflings when they’ve been restrained and forced to sit still in front of the council for hours on end. Being cooped up inside didn’t bode well for Erebor when the Princes were finally relieved of their duty and Dwalin had already reorganised the armoury over thirty times since they’d recovered the mountain. He shuddered as he remembered the bright pink paint that had covered the handle and blade of every single weapon last time the Princes had gotten bored.

“Hmm.” Bilbo agreed. “There isn’t much they can do in here for a whole day. I’ll have to try and find something to occupy them at least for the morning.”

Dwalin glanced at the stir-crazy faunts and then over at Fili and Kili who were slowly waking up and yet still managed to look as if they were planning some horrible scheme or trick. Dwalin shivered at the idea of Fili and Kili uniting with the faunts to cause havoc in Bag End and was struck by a sudden and rather brilliant idea.

“If you can occupy the faunts until lunchtime the boys and I can keep them occupied for the last hours of daylight outside. That is if you don’t mind them going outside.” Dwalin said quietly to Bilbo, being careful not to be overheard by the faunts.

Nori glanced at them briefly before deciding they weren’t scheming anything malevolent towards Thorin or anyone he cared about and turned back to trying to tug sausages from Bifur who was trying to dip them in what looked like marmalade.

“I have a few jigsaw puzzles they can do, they can make paper chains and I’m planning to bake some biscuits that they can decorate so that should occupy them until lunchtime. If not I can always ask Ori to tell them some more stories, he’s gathered quite a fan group.”

Both older Hobbit and Dwarven warrior watched as Ori was suddenly asked a question by Frodo who had clambered from Bilbo’s lap at the sight of Ori sketching and was now sitting in Ori’s lap and listening intently to Ori’s answers and watching a picture forming on the page under the Dwarf’s deft fingers.

“Right then. I’ll sort the afternoon if you can manage to keep the little tykes occupied for the morning.” Dwalin grunted and rose to his feet before circling the table and leaning down to whisper in Fili and Kili’s ears.

The two Dwarf Princes seemed to perk up and glanced at each other with wide and devilish eyes. A broad grin spread over both their faces and they surged to their feet and ran to their bedroom to get dressed.

Balin and Oin began to gather the breakfast things and take them to the kitchen where Bifur had filled the sink with warm soapy water and was already washing the cutlery which had suspiciously vanished from the table during breakfast. Bifur had found it stuffed down Merry’s waistcoat and had taken the faunt to his bedroom to change out of the sticky item of clothing before taking all the silverware and starting to wash it.

Meanwhile Bilbo gathered the faunts and led them to the living room where he had collected the few wooden jigsaw puzzles he had, paper and glue and a few books too. Nori, Balin and Oin joined Bilbo in the living room with the faunts and the group watched as the two excited princes raced by to the door and pulled their boots on.

Fili was wearing a thick dark brown winter coat with what looked like rabbit fur lining the hood and cuffs. Kili was decked out in a similar style coat but in a very dark blue, almost black colour. Bilbo noticed that both coats however had some embroidery or other form of embellishment that signified they were royalty of Durin’s line. Both also had warm but flexible gloves and they were soon kitted out and ready, jumping and bouncing by the door as they waited for Dwalin.

The warrior Dwarf came striding up the hall looking the same as he usually did save for a thick pair of gloves instead of his knuckled dusters and he had a fur wrapped around him instead of his waterproof cloak. To Bilbo’s surprise Ori went scampering off to his room and returned with a bundle of knitted wool which he shyly presented to Dwalin. A knitted hat and scarf in a dark blue were unfolded in the warrior’s hands and Ori blushed as Dwalin looked at him with something akin to awe and bashfulness. The hat and scarf went straight on and Bilbo thought the warrior who didn’t even wear a helmet to battle looked considerably different with a woolly hat on.

“Bilbo, where do you keep your shovels and the like?” Dwalin called. Bilbo furrowed his brow for a moment wondering what Dwalin and Fili and Kili of all Dwarves needed with his gardening tools.

“You see the chest to the left of the front door? There should be two spades in there and a hoe.  Do you need anything else?”

Dwalin leaned over the chest and opened it, pulling out the spades and the gardening hoe before rummaging around again and pulling out some small wooden boxes that had once held bulbs purchased from the East in. The bright cheery flowers from the East had been very delicate and sensitive bulbs so the merchant who was transporting them had packed them in straw and sawdust so that they would be protected from the journey. The weather in the Shire helped the bulbs bloom beautifully and Bilbo had never needed the wooden boxes again but had kept them all the same. You never knew what could be useful.

“I’ll just take these boxes if you don’t mind.” Dwalin showed Bilbo the wooden rectangles and Bilbo furrowed his brow before a soft gasp left his lips and he smiled in delight as he realised what Dwalin and the Princes were going to be doing until lunchtime.

“No, no. You take them. If you need a bucket for icing the top there should be one under the bench on the porch. Might be a few spiders in it but other than that it should be good for what you need!”

Dwalin grunted and passed the shovels and boxes to Fili and Kili who whooped simultaneously and dashed out of the smial and into the brilliant sunshine and crystal white snow.

“See you later!” Bilbo chuckled and Dwalin sighed and pulled his new knitted hat straight before striding out and shutting the door tightly behind him to keep the warmth in.

By the time he had retrieved the bucket from under the bench and tipped out the resident wolf spider Dwalin turned around to see that Kili had already lain down in the snow and waving his arms and legs up and down in the snow.

“Look I’m an eagle of Manwe!”

Sometimes Dwalin thought he was an idiot but then he only had to look at Kili and he felt smarter…

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

“Why do we have to put all our winter clothes on Uncle Bilbo?”

“Are there wolves outside?”

“Is Kili really a Dwarf?”

“Do plants die underground when it snows?”

“Do Dwarves like snow?

“Does it snow at the Lonely Mountain?”

“Do I have to wear my scarf? It itches?”

“Is Mr Ori in love with Mr Dwalin?”

“Will we have cake later?”

“Why is Mr Ori red?”

“Are Fili and Kili really brothers?”

“Can I have a biscuit now?”

“Won’t we get Frostbite in the snow?”

“Can I put snow in my mouth?”

“Enough!” Bilbo cried and to his relief silence fell. The four faunts stared up at Bilbo with big, wide eyes and surprised faces. Bilbo rarely raised his voice but usually when he did it was because of something awful or horrible. This time however he had only done it to save poor Ori and Balin from the incessant questions.

“Now, to answer your many, many questions: because its cold outside, no there aren’t any wolves outside, yes Kili is really a Dwarf, some plants do die when it snows but unless it’s very cold the ones underground should be fine, I don’t know if Dwarves like snow, I imagine it snows at Erebor because it snowed at Lake Town, yes, probably, maybe if you’re good, because he’s shy, yes, no, no and no you can’t put snow in your mouth.”

The Company and the faunts stared in awe at Bilbo’s ability to recall the questions in order and reply in order. Even Thorin who was used to getting asked a hundred questions at once in the middle of battle and having to give replies almost instantly wasn’t sure he could have answered such varied and quick questions.

Frodo glanced up at the Dwarf King who was staring at Bilbo with awe and pouted. The dark-haired Baggins tugged on his Uncle’s coat and Bilbo looked down and smiled at the sweet-looking Frodo.

“Yes dear one?”

“Is the Dwarf King coming with us?”

Bilbo glanced at Thorin who shuffled uneasily from foot to foot.

“I’m afraid I won’t be joining you immediately as I have some…business to attend to on the edge of town.” Thorin said slowly.

Bilbo’s face fell briefly before he smiled cheerfully and forcefully. The Dwarves standing behind Thorin (Fili and Kili) groaned and fell upon each other in overly dramatic and tragic poses. Balin slapped his forehead with his hand and sighed. Bifur had no idea what was going on but could tell that Bilbo wasn’t very happy so said something strange in Ancient Khuzdul that made Thorin blush and spin round sharply to stare at the other Dwarf.

Dwalin grinned wickedly at his King’s discomfort and held out his hand for Nori to put a single coin in it. The Thief muttered under his breath and glared at the King’s bodyguard. Ori was still blushing furiously and Dori was spluttering behind him. Oin who was furthest back hadn’t heard anything that had gone on and kept asking what was happening and searching for his ear trumpet.

“Oh for goodness sake!” Pippin cried. “Can we go out now?!”

The adults all turned to see the four faunts looking incredibly exasperated and even more fidgety than they had been that morning. Merry was positively vibrating with supressed energy and Pippin looked like he was going to float off the ground at any second.

“Yes, yes. We’re going.” Bilbo opened the door and with yelps and whoops of delight the faunts tumbled out into the fresh air and pushed and shoved each other into snow drifts and great embankments of the soft white powder that luckily acted as cushions for the faunts.

“Oh it’s good to be outside again.” Bilbo murmured and turned his face up to the sun and closed his eyes. The sun played across his face and the soft but cold wind teased and played with his curls. It had been a while since he had enjoyed the simple pleasures of being outdoors.

The Dwarves filtered out and into Bilbo’s snow covered garden with Dwalin and the Princes leading the way round to the back of the hill. Bilbo stood at the top of his steps and watched as Dwalin was mobbed by faunts and Merry and Pippin deliberately tripped Ori so that the younger and slimmer Dwarf went sliding and slipping towards Dwalin.

Dwalin leapt forward and caught Ori only to discover that the smaller Dwarf’s momentum was so great that it sent both of them flying into the snow and Dwalin’s knitted hat was knocked askew. Lifting his head from where it had become buried in the fur on Dwalin’s chest Ori giggled and reached up to pull the knitted hat up so that Dwalin could see once more.

The pair grinned shyly at each other before awkwardly beginning to untangle themselves in order to stand up.

“A strange pairing do you not think?” Thorin murmured as he stood at Bilbo’s side and they observed the pair.

Bilbo tilted his head to one side in thought.

“I’ve seen stranger pairings. An Elf and a Dwarf, an Elf and a Man, there’s even been an Elf and a Hobbit many hundreds of years ago or at least so the legends and history books tell. Tooks you see are adventurers and have keen appetites and hungers for knowledge and adventure and excitement. If there’s trouble in the Shire you can be almost certain that it will be a Took at the centre of it.”

Bilbo looked up at Thorin and felt a pang in his heart at the sight of the King looking both royal and so content. There were no longer any lines of tension and stress or worry about his eyes only relaxed crow’s feet that were the result of the King’s long years and the laughter that had only occurred in the last few months. The silver streaks that were threaded through his elaborately braided her glinted and sparkled like mithril in the sunlight and Bilbo quickly shoved his bandaged hands into his pockets to stop his twitching fingers from reaching up and touching the glistening strands.

Thorin felt Bilbo’s gaze upon him and looked down at the Hobbit with a smile that Bilbo knew was only ever seen by the Company and family of the proud and inspiring Dwarf. Until Beorn’s home Bilbo had only ever seen glimpses of that smile as it appeared when Fili or Kili bounded up to their Uncle with some eager question or tale, or towards Balin and Dwalin who had been Thorin’s teachers, advisors and friends for well over a hundred years. As time passed on their journey more and more of the Company had seen that smile bestowed upon them but it wasn’t to be Bilbo’s privilege until he was treating Thorin’s wounds within the safety of Beorn’s house.

It had been a sight to see for the poor Hobbit whose heart had stopped momentarily before regaining some sort of rhythm with several beats missed or skipped. Thorin’s lips which were normally held in a passive or regal pose had relaxed and the corners had slowly risen up and the pearly white teeth had appeared in the flickering light of the fire.

Bilbo had seen that smile many times after that; in the cells at Mirkwood when he released Thorin and the others from capture, after Bilbo had vouched for Thorin before the assembled Lake Townspeople, after Bilbo had found the hidden keyhole when all hope had been dashed against the cold mountain stone and forgotten by all except the Child from the Kindly West, after Smaug when Bilbo had huddled up against Thorin seeking comfort from his skirt with death at the flames and claws and talons of the Dragon with which he had bandied words, when Thorin had all but lost his mind to the Gold Sickness that crept and unfurled itself within the tragically beautiful Dwarf King, on the battlefield before the final clash with the Defiler.

Thorin had been staring into Bilbo’s eyes throughout the Hobbit’s internal monologue and thoughts and had apparently seen something in Bilbo which caused him to rear up and open his mouth with a painfully hopeful expression on his face but before he could utter a single word Frodo appeared.

“Uncle Bilbo! Come and see what Mr Dwalin and Fili and Kili have built! ‘Scuse me King.”

Frodo squeezed between Thorin and Bilbo’s legs and began to shove and jostle at his Uncle until Bilbo acquiesced with a slightly irritated sigh and began to clump down the steps and up the side of the hill towards the tree that stood alone on the skyline.

Bilbo glanced back towards his path only to see that Thorin had already set off and was shutting the gate to Bag End and turning towards Hobbiton itself.

“Alright Frodo, you can stop pushing and pulling me. I’m sure whatever it is Dwalin has built isn’t going to vanish within the thirty seconds it takes me to climb this little slope.”

Frodo grinned and scrambled up the slope which seemed to have a series of small steps carved out of the snow. As Bilbo set a tentative foot on one he discovered that they were in fact Dwarven snow steps that had been packed down, covered in water which had frozen and then carved out of the snowy hillside before being covered in water once again. The final touch to make sure that no one slipped on the steps had been to put some chicken wire on the top of each step and pin it into the sides of the step.

Bilbo crooned appreciatively at the skilled workmanship and ingenuity of Dwalin and the Princes (if he was being honest he really wouldn’t have thought Dwalin, Fili and Kili the type to think of that sort of thing) but briefly wondered where they had gotten the chicken wire.

As he crested the hill Bilbo let out a surprised and joyful laugh at the sight that greeted him. Two snow forts had been built. One which was a fairly simple structure, with a couple of turrets at either end of four walls with a high doorway that allowed the Dwarves to get in and out of it. The second structure was far more elaborate and larger with two levels to it and the entire thing was made out of bricks rather than packed snow like the first fort.

The Princes had even built a moat and drawbridge like feature and whilst the second fort was large enough for the Dwarves to fit in they would only be able to act from the ground level as the second tier was fauntling sized.

Both forts had been solidified with ice and Bilbo noticed that someone, he suspected Kili, had gotten enthusiastic and made bunkers and ditches between the two forts so as to enable a warrior to try and sneak closer to the enemy’s fort and launch a better attack.

Bilbo laughed at the Dwarves fort when he noticed the two snow Dwarves that stood guard either side of the entrance as they were miniature replicas of the two giant statues that had stood watch outside Erebor’s entrance right down to the detail in the armour.

“So what d’ya think laddie?” Dwalin said as he stood next to Bilbo his big arms crossed and his fur pelt making him seem even larger than normal. “You happy for your younglings to play in such a structure.”

Bilbo nodded emphatically and grinned at the warrior.

“I am thoroughly impressed Dwalin. I trust your building skills implicitly.”

“It’s nothing much. Used to do this with the two prancing Princelings over there. Was one of the best ways to teach them battle strategy and tactics in the Winter. A fort for each of them and a snow army to command so not only did they tire themselves out playing but they also hopefully learned something about warfare. I can’t be doing with mollycoddling but as methods go for teaching, snow fights are one of the better and less brutal ways. Not that I’ll be teaching your young’uns battle strategy mind. This is just plain and simple fun with a home base for each team. We’ll keep the faunts together but the Princelings, myself and Nori will be on their team whilst the rest are the foes.”

Bilbo hummed his understanding and assent before grinning wickedly and asking:

“And what is my role in this epic battle?”

Dwalin looked surprised for a moment before he noticed the mischievous glint in Bilbo’s eyes and returned the Hobbit’s cheeky grin with his own.

“Well it’s your Kingdom we’re battling for so you can join either side or indiscriminately pummel us all and judge who the victors are. By the way I’ve said the prize will be the cookies you keep in a jar that you hid from the faunts in the linen cupboard. Nori found them easily but we haven’t eaten them.”

Bilbo spluttered briefly but Dwalin winked at him and strode into the middle of no man’s land before yelling out some loud word in Khuzdul.

“No biting, clawing, scratching, punching, beard or hair pulling. No weighted snowballs or weapons to be used save for snowballs and even they are to be lightly packed. Any foul play and you will be declared out, am I understood?” Dwalin stared down both sides and Bilbo giggled at the serious looks on both teams faces.

“Right then Bilbo if you’d like to wait until I’m with my team and then give the beginning battle cry?”

Dwalin didn’t even wait for Bilbo to answer before he was swiftly marching across to the elaborate fauntling fort which was near the great oak tree (added security for the faunts so they didn’t go tumbling off the hillside).

“Right then.” Bilbo said. “Let the Battle for Bag End begin!”

And with that they were off!

Snowballs flew through the air and crashed uselessly against the snow walls and bricks. Shrill fauntling shrieks of ‘For Bilbo’, ‘For Bag End’, ‘And for Biscuits’ rang out from Dwalin’s team and Bilbo saw all four faunts were bright-cheeked and smiling from excitement and enjoyment.

The Dwarven team were calling out ancient Dwarvish battle cries having elected Bifur as their leader (which Bilbo didn’t think was necessarily the wisest choice as the axe-ridden Dwarf had already knocked over a part of their fort wall and was currently lobbying snowballs through it uncaring of the ones hitting him in the face) and the slightly mad Dwarf was screaming out Ancient Khuzdul war cries and occasionally his fingers would flash in a sequence of Iglishmek.

Dwalin launched a first assault from the safety of their fort but all too soon they began to run out of snow. The warrior recruited Merry, Fili and Kili to go out behind the fort and begin bringing in more snow to the centre where a protected Ori would make snowballs of varying sizes that would fit in everyone’s hands.

Bifur had managed to calm down after a while and was murmuring, with Balin acting as translator, whilst Dori and Oin continued their barrage upon the opposition. Nori was grinning wickedly and eagerly by the time Bifur had finished his plan and the Thief then lurked by the entrance of their fort and watched with eager eyes until Dwalin was distracted before sneaking from the Dwarven fort.

Bilbo watched greatly amused as Nori slunk towards the Fauntling Fort. The middle Ri brother had somehow managed to get hold of a white coat that was trimmed with white fur and had also found a white cloth to drape around his legs and boots so he was able to sneak closer and closer towards the Fauntling Fort without being spotted by Dwalin, Fili, Kili or the eagle-eyed faunts.

For a brief moment Bilbo thought about calling out a warning to Dwalin but then decided it would be far more fun to see what Bifur had planned. It was a wise move for mere moments later Nori slunk over the drawbridge of the fauntling fort and lunged for one of the faunts.

Poor Samwise let out a joyfully terrified shriek as he was carried away by Nori who was cackling madly in glee. Dwalin bellowed out orders to his team.

“We’ve lost one of our own men! Rally together now and we can launch our counter-attack!”

Dwalin’s counter-attack consisted of the faunts running across the battlefield and leaping upon Oin with great handfuls of snow which they shoved down the deaf Dwarf’s ear trumpet and down his hood.

Frodo and Merry squealed in excitement as Bifur lurched towards them and only missed grabbing one of them by a curl of Hobbit hair.

“Good work lads!” Dwalin said as they returned to their fort and watched Oin try and shake the compacted snow out of his ear trumpet. Unfortunately Fauntling hands are very deft and small and Frodo and Merry had packed the mithril trumpet with snow in the thinnest part which Oin’s large and clumsy fingers couldn’t reach. The no-weapons-other-than-snow-rule also meant the poor Dwarf had no item with which he could attempt to diffuse the blockage and so both teams were one man down within twenty minutes of the game beginning.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

After an hour or so Bilbo had called a ceasefire and temporary truce so that everyone could stop and have afternoon tea; hot cocoa, little sandwiches, scones, cake and sugar mice were carried up on trays by Bilbo, Oin and Sam who had retreated from the battle after they had been incapacitated/captured by the other team (Bilbo of course had said that Sam could join back in but the poor faunt had been slightly traumatised by his abduction and had retreated to sit with Bilbo and shout out encouragement to his former team and Oin had joined shortly after having accidentally knocked Nori face first when he hadn’t heard Balin’s shout for Oin to move out of the way).

The group had enjoyed their afternoon tea and brought out torches to light and hang around the battleground so as to mark out the safe zone so that no faunt or overeager Dwarf took a tumble over Bag End. The pathway was also illuminated by great flaming torches that Fili and Kili had made after scarfing down their afternoon tea.

Before the battle was joined once more Bofur returned from his day’s work and inspecting and decided to join in on the Dwarven team so that the numbers were slightly more balanced. Oin had declined joining in again and would instead sit with Bilbo and keep the injured older Hobbit company (having melted the snow out of his ear trumpet he could now hear again) as Bilbo had attempted to make snowballs and throw them earlier but bandaged and gloved hands did not allow for great dexterity or control and the first snowball Bilbo had thrown had hit Frodo on the head when Bilbo had been aiming for Kili, the second had been crushed in his grip before he had even launched it and the third had gone sailing through the air to splat harmlessly on the ground in front of the Dwarven fort.

Of course no one had laughed at poor Bilbo’s plight but Oin had decided to keep their dear friend/Uncle/cousin/father’s employer company.

The battle raged on once more and Bilbo glanced up at the fading light in the sky. The sun had been covered up several minutes ago by thick and heavy looking clouds which promised another snowfall and a bitterly cold wind was whipping his hair and causing the flames in the lanterns and torches to sputter and spit as they fought being blown out completely.

A particularly violent gust of wind rushed over the hill and sent a spray of loose snow soaring into the air and cutting into the faces of all who stood in its way.

“Dwalin! Balin!” Bilbo cried as the wind picked up. “Time to stop I think. The weather is turning and the faunts need to get in and get warm!”

The two brothers looked at each other across the war-torn battlefield and nodded briefly before turning to their teammates and explaining the situation. The Dwarven Fort was soon emptied and not a moment too soon as a strong blast of wind sent a portion of the wall tumbling down.

Ori scrambled out of the Fauntling fort with Merry clutched in his arms. The faunts were unused to such harsh condition and Merry had buried his face in Ori’s long woollen scarf to try and protect his wind-chapped cheeks.

Fili and Kili came out next with Pippin and Sam held respectively in their arms. Poor Pippin was so small that the cold wind had already made him begin to shiver so Fili had opened his coat and tucked the especially small faunt in the space between coat and Dwarf chest. Pippin’s little hat was the only thing that could be seen and Bilbo was reassured that Pippin could breathe when Fili let out a yelp as the small Hobbit’s foot nearly connected with a vital piece of equipment that the Heir to Erebor hoped to be able to use to reproduce in the future.

The Dwarves began to make their way down the snow steps helping each other and passing the faunts if necessary.

Only Dwalin and Frodo were left and the large Dwarf came striding out of the descending storm towards Bilbo with Frodo held in his arms. Relieved at the sight of the final two making their way towards him Bilbo began to descend the snow steps his arm held up to block out the blisteringly cold wind that was making his eyes stream and the sharp glass-like shards of snow that were swiping at his face.

Suddenly from behind him Bilbo heard Dwalin bellow and he spun round only to see Dwalin loose his footing as the snow step crumbled under the repeated weight that had trodden up and down them and the wind which had been gouging out the steps in the last few minutes.

Bilbo gasped but could only watch as Dwalin came crashing down the slope with Frodo wrapped tightly in his arms. The Dwarf and fauntling went tumbling past Bilbo until they hit the stone path and the gate which led to Bilbo’s garden. There was a great cracking sound as Dwalin’s skull hit the gate and Bilbo swore before scrambling down the snowy mound towards his friend and nephew.

“Bilbo!” Thorin’s voice came from the street and the Dwarf King leapt over the ruined wooden fence to pull the Hobbit from a particularly deep snowdrift. “Get inside! I’ll get Dwalin and Frodo!”

Bilbo hovered for a minute before Thorin shoved him at the steps up to the front door of the hobbit hole. Bilbo staggered up the steps and made it to the relatively sheltered porch area and turned back anxiously only to see Thorin lifting Dwalin up, the taller Dwarf’s arm slung about his King’s shoulders and the warrior leaning heavily against Thorin.

Bilbo peered through the blinding snow trying to see where Frodo was but snowflakes kept getting in his way and the next thing he knew Thorin was leading a stunned and cold Dwalin up the steps towards the front door.

The Hobbit opened his front door and pushed it wide open, uncaring of the snow blasting in and the heat being lost only concerned with making it wide enough for both Dwarves to fit through. They staggered in and Thorin panted as Dwalin groaned and slumped to his knees the moment the door was shut.

Thorin also went crashing to his knees and he hissed as his knee caps cracked against the tiles that lined the entrance to the smial.

Bilbo fluttered forward and peered at Dwalin’s head, sucking his teeth at the sight of the sluggishly bleeding cut on the warrior’s forehead.

“Dwalin!” Ori’s shocked voice rang through the almost deadly silent smial and the young Dwarf and Oin lunged forward taking Dwalin’s weight from their King. Oin tutted over the cut before announcing that Dwalin’s head had hit harder things and that he would be perfectly fine once he was dry, warm and the wound had been sealed with one of his pastes.

Dori stepped forward and with a strength that one would not expect helped Ori lift Dwalin to his feet so the concussed Dwarf could stagger down the hallway towards the shared room he was using with Nori.

Seeing Dwalin taken care of Bilbo flitted around Thorin searching for Frodo.

“Don’t worry Bilbo, he’s safe and sound.” Thorin said wearily and began to unbutton his coat.

Bilbo realised that either Thorin had been eating far too much and it had magically appeared on the Dwarf whilst he had been away from Bag End or the King had done as Fili had with Pippin and tucked the fauntling inside his coat.

Indeed when Bilbo peered into the dark and furry depths of Thorin’s coat (by Manwe’s wings it smelt amazing being so close to the Dwarf King. Bilbo could detect hints of the Winter Spices that had been in the cake Bilbo had served for desert after lunch that day as well as Thorin’s own rich scent and what seemed to be the particularly strong scent of coal and fire) he could see Frodo curled up within the safe an warm confines.

The Hobbit’s head was positioned over Thorin’s heart and when Bilbo whispered Frodo’s name the dark-haired faunt’s eyes slowly opened and slid towards his Uncle but the faunt would not move his head.

“Are you alright sweetling?” Bilbo asked worriedly.

Frodo nodded minutely and then held his finger up to his lips motioning for silence.

“I’m listening to his heart Uncle Bilbo.” Frodo whispered and then closed his eyes once more as he listened to the steady, strong, calming and repetitive thud, thud, thud of the Dwarf King’s heart.

Thorin clambered to his feet and untucked Frodo’s feet from the other side of his coat and Bilbo shook his head fondly at the sight the Dwarven King made. Here was a Dwarf who had fought Azog the Defiler, was leader of the seven Dwarf Kingdoms, wielder of the (damned) Arkenstone and the Oakenshield, Lord of Silver Fountains and many other impressive and awe-inspiring titles, but never had Bilbo seen him look more content than he did at that moment with Frodo’s head pressed over his heart and the faunt’s fingers gripping the strong and calloused Dwarf King’s hand…

* * *

 


	5. Gloin, Gimli and the Winter Fete

The Hobbit: A Dwarf is for Life not Just for Christmas Chapter 5

Gloin, Gimli and the Winter Fete

* * *

“Stop moaning.” Gloin said sternly as Gimli grumbled petulantly as they trudged through the heavy snowfall towards Bag End.

“But Father!” Gimli moaned and kicked at a snow drift only to yelp when his foot found it wasn’t a snow drift but rather a frozen cow pat. He wrinkled his nose before rubbing his foot in the snow to wash off the frozen cow manure. “I don’t want to spend the day with some little children. Sibit and I were going to go around the Winter Fete together.”

“And you can still go round the Winter Fete with young Sibit but you’ll also be meeting the fauntlings Mr Baggins is looking after. For goodness sake Gimli I’d swear you were still a Dwarfling acting in such a manner. You’ll be an adult in a few years so if you wish to be taken seriously then you should start behaving as such. Besides Sibit is a child too.”

Gloin let out a relieved sigh as Bag End came into view as they crested the bend in the road that twisted with the rise of The Hill. To his surprise there were two snowy mounds atop the Hobbit Hole and as he peered at them he could make out the faint shape of a fort.

“What have they been doing?” He thought out loud and Gimli scowled at him.

Having not seen his father in well over a year Gimli had been delighted when he and the Company had returned to the Blue Mountains to help move the last of their people who wished to leave. The young Dwarf had thought maybe it would be an adventure, a place where an eager Dwarf could prove himself a grown up, especially as he had been forbidden to join the Quest to reclaim Erebor and his father had chained him to his bed for two days and given the key to his mother. Gimli’s mum was not a dwarrow to mess with and she had promptly gone out and left Gimli chained to the bed for six hours after his father’s departure when the young hot—headed Dwarf had ceased to moan about how unfair it was that Fili and Kili who were only just old enough to go were being allowed to follow Prince Thorin and that Uncle Oin who was deaf as a doorpost got to go so Gimli should have been allowed to go to!

Gloin carefully closed the gate behind him and led a grumbling Gimli up the stone steps that were coated with snow but had a hidden layer of ice beneath them. To Gloin’s amusement Gimli’s sulky and grumpy footsteps caused the younger Dwarf to step to harshly and his foot went skidding across the ice and Gimli tumbled backwards, head over heel until he lay sprawled in a dazed and bewildered lump at the bottom of the steps.

“Oh dear. I should probably salt down my steps. Everyone seems to be having accidents at my gate. Poor Dwalin got a nasty cut last night.” Bilbo’s voice whilst amused, for to be certain Gimli did look rather hilarious spread-eagled on the snowy ground, his beard and hair a startling red in contrast, he was also worried about some of the less hard-headed people currently residing his smial (namely the faunts) and that although the Dwarves were made of sterner stuff than Hobbits, Bilbo knew from previous experiences (which will go unnamed else Bilbo’s poor Hobbit heart broke once more) that they were not invincible.

“Master Baggins!” Gloin said with great cheer. “It is good to see you again my dear friend!”

Bilbo and Gloin shared a Dwarven handclasp and a gentle head-butt but before they could continue their conversation they were disturbed by a muted groan from Gimli who was slowly pushing himself up off the ground.

“Is this your Gimli?” Bilbo asked bemusedly and Gloin puffed up his chest and grinned with pride.

“Aye this is him. However Master Baggins,”

“Bilbo please Master Gloin.”

“Right Bilbo then you must call me Gloin. As I was saying, this is Gimli but he is not being particularly gracious today. Not best pleased at being dragged away from hunting and his axe-work. Lad’s been spoilt having me to himself for the last few days. But he’ll straighten out in a few minutes won’t you my boy?”

Gimli had gotten up off the ground and was rubbing at his sore backside with a wrinkled nose as he brushed snow from his clothing and hair with his free hand.

“Yes father.” Gimli said embarrassed at being caught off his guard in front of Bilbo Baggins, Hero of Erebor. He was smaller than Gimli had thought he’d be, even though Gimli knew he was a Hobbit, and quite a bit plainer. The legends and feats that had already spread through the Ereborean and Ered Luin Dwarves had told of Bilbo Baggins’ golden curls, jade green eyes, skin like tiger’s eye-lightly warm and brown and his teeth that glinted pearly white. Gimli saw none of that however no matter how hard it looked.

“Well then, we should probably set off soon.” Bilbo said glancing at the field with the Party Tree in it. The Winter Fete was always held in the Party Field due to its generous size and flat land, perfect for stalls, dancing, food and song.

“Come in out of the cold for a few minutes. We are almost ready to leave. Just trying to get Pippin into his winter hat and coat. The little tyke has managed to scamper away every time we thought we had him.”

Bilbo shook his head exasperatedly before leading Gloin and Gimli into Bag End. The moment they were in the two red heads had wished they had stayed outside. The cacophony was intense. A blast of noise that even to Dwarves was loud.

Three fauntlings were stood neatly and patiently by the door waiting for the adults to finish messing around. And messing around they were. Bilbo had dived back into the fray and was chasing after a half-dressed fauntling who was giggling and cackling like a demonic creature. The Company was also trying to capture the faunt Dwarf after Dwarf lunging and missing or grabbing him only to lose him as he, still wet with water from his morning bath, could slip from their large and clumsy fingers which were gentled so as not to hurt his weaker bones.

Pippin had even managed to knot Ori and Dwalin together with some wool he had stolen from Ori’s knitting bag and the poor young Dwarf had all but passed out from the proximity to the warrior Dwarf. Dwalin was flustered and spluttering as he called Ori’s name trying to stop him from fainting.

The rest of the Company were no better off and Gimli watched in horror as his father, role model, hero and the one whom Gimli took all his mannerisms from, leapt into the fray with a grin and a whoop of excitement.

“Father!” Gimli cried and then winced as Uncle Oin crashed into his younger brother and then the pair went tumbling down the halls of Bag End. King Thorin, Gimli’s other role model, snatched up Master Baggins as the two brothers went careering down the hall and Bilbo let out an ‘eep’ as Thorin scooped him up in his arms and swung him away from the larger bodies.

Gimli and the three faunts who stood patiently, if not slightly exasperatedly by the door, all made noises of interest and surprise.

“Been brewing long that?” Gimli grumbled and glanced down at the smaller Hobbits. Sam and Merry glanced up at him and the Brandybuck faunt spoke.

“As far as we can tell since before Uncle Bilbo came back from his Adventure.”

“Ori said that they fell in love on the way to the Lonely Mountain but then something happened.” Sam said softly and almost shyly until Gimli’s grumpy and stern face broke into a kinder smile at the sight of the more timid faunt.

“King Thorin was an idiot.” Frodo said plainly. “He was a silly Dwarf who valued gold more than Uncle Bilbo and Uncle Bilbo got hurt because of it. Then Uncle Bilbo was told to go away by the nasty Dwarf so he didn’t know that Thorin and Fili and Kili didn’t die and that they were all better from the Dragon Sickness.”

“I see laddie.” Gimli said thoughtfully. He wondered which Dwarf it had been that had told Bilbo Baggins, Hero of Erebor, Dale and Mirkwood amongst other illustrious titles to pack his bags and leave. He pondered for a moment before tucking the information away in his mind for a while and turned his attention to the faunts. He placed a comforting heavy hand on Frodo’s shoulder and the young hobbit looked up at the red-bearded Dwarf and saw a spark of amusement. “How long have they been trying to catch the wee naked lad now?”

“About half an hour?” Merry offered and scratched at his woolly green hat. Faunts didn’t like wearing hats, they itched something awful on their sensitive little ears but Uncle Bilbo had been adamant that they couldn’t leave without hats on.

“Master Dwalin was supposed to be getting him ready but then Pippin found some sweeties in Master Dori’s pack and he scoffed the lot. Been bouncing around like that ever since.” Frodo said in disbelief as his younger cousin did a strange backflip off Fili, using the Prince like a step to jump past Kili who fell into his older brother.

“Right then.” Gimli said and metaphorically rolled up his sleeves. His eyes watched as Pippin darted around and twice the faunt scampered towards them and Gimli let him pass.

The third time however Pippin was not so lucky and Gimli snatched up the faunt in his arms and pressed the smaller, slightly dryer now, body to his chest and trapped poor Pip between his thick arms and barrel chest. The buckles on Gimli’s coat were still icy cold from the chilly wind outside and as they pressed against Pippin’s bare tummy the faunt let out a piercing squeal (sounding rather like a piglet) before going limp as if the energy had been sucked out of him by the cold metal.

“Here you are then Master Dwalin? Will you be ready in a few minutes or shall we meet you there?” Gimli said candidly and watched as the honoured warrior blushed and took the limp faunt from the younger Dwarf.

Dwalin had managed to untangle himself and Ori from the wool and the poor scribe was now being tended to by his older brothers. This left Dwalin free to march down the hallway, into the faunt’s room and begin dressing Pip ready to go out to the Winter Fete.

“Well done Gimli!” Gloin said and clapped his son on the shoulder hard. Even Fili and Kili looked impressed at Gimli’s quickness and ability to subdue fierce fauntlings who were loaded up with sugar.

Gimli preened under the praise before turning to the three faunts who were all looking at him with respect and comradery.

“So what exactly goes on at a Winter Fete?” He asked and smiled as all three faunts launched into a cascade of descriptions and jabbering voices. Maybe the Winter Fete wouldn’t be too bad…

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Gloin and Bilbo ended up walking side by side near the front of their procession as the resident and his many guests walked down to the Winter Fete. They were an odd bunch to be sure. Dwarves, Hobbit and faunts walking, trotting and skipping along.

Ori and Dwalin had forgiven Pippin after the faunt had come down from his sugar induced hyperactivity and glumly given his apologies to each Dwarf in turn (Bilbo had told him to do so on pain of never getting cookies again) and had saved Ori and Dwalin for last. The scribe had instantly forgiven the mischievous but now regretful faunt but Dwalin’s face had remained set in a stony scowl and Pippin wilted under the fierce and angered look. The faunt’s bottom lip had begun to tremble and his eyes welled with tears which he valiantly held back as he tried to stand at his full height (not that tall if we’re being honest) and take the weight of Dwalin’s anger.

Ori had seen what Dwalin was doing to the poor faunt and had gasped and smacked the older, fiercer Dwarf hard on the shoulder. So hard in fact that it sent the unsuspecting seasoned warrior straight into a snowy holly bush. Of course Ori hadn’t known it was a holly bush as it was covered in a heavy blanket of snow until Dwalin slowly clambered out of it, yelping and squawking as he went. Dwalin had emerged with a new set of thin scratches to accompany the thin cut on his head from the previous night.

Of course after that Dwalin had graciously accepted Pippin’s apologies and offered his own (his own being carefully constructed by Ori so that they would be appropriate for young ears, Dwalin’s apology would have consisted of several crude words that no faunt should hear until they were of age or ever!) and everyone had gotten along merrily after that.

Gimli had gained quite the entourage and was leading the way with the four faunts bouncing around asking the Dwarf questions and replying to his own in turn. Gimli was successfully managing to keep their attention on walking to the Fete rather than beginning a spontaneous snow fight. The youngest Dwarf had been quite disappointed to be told that he had missed the Battle for Bag End or the Battle for Bilbo’s Cookies (Merry thought Gimli was sad to have missed Uncle Bilbo’s cookies which was quite understandable) but Frodo and Sam said that Dwalin was planning another Battle for tomorrow and that Gimli was welcome to join.

“Maybe Sibit could join? If you boys don’t mind the extra company?” Gimli suggested. He knew Sibit was one of the youngest Dwarflings and that she often got quite bored following her mother around. Her older brothers would play with her but often their duties got in the way or the way they played was too advanced for her. Playing with the four faunts would be about her age range and skill range (of course she would be slightly better, being a Dwarf, at snow fights as every Dwarfling in Ered Luin had snow fights from quite early in the year at the first snowfall) and Gimli had an inkling that she would get on quite nicely with Merry and Pippin and probably Sam. Frodo might be a problem.

Gimli hadn’t failed to notice Frodo’s dark curls, bright blue eyes and pale skin. He had noticed that Frodo could pass for Kili’s offspring! Poor Kili had been hiding and darting away from Sibit for almost the entire journey from the Blue Mountains to the Shire much to the amusement of the Company, Dwarf parents and Fili. Kili had eventually resigned himself to Sibit’s adoration and had begun to allow her to ride along with him on his pony, carefully holding her in front of him of course so that the young Dwarf girl (who was highly valued by not only her parents but by her people, Dwarrows being rare, their children more rare and female children the rarest of all) could not topple from the pony whilst her attention was diverted by some object (Kili's hair usually). The youngest Prince had even permitted Sibit to place a simple braid in his hair, one which had no major significance save for friendship.  It was a braid that all Dwarflings first learnt along with their family braids and possibly one that denoted their ancestry if their heritage was such that it could be commemorated.

Fili was usually the only person Kili allowed to braid his hair and so when Sibit had asked to braid the dark-haired Dwarf Prince’s hair Gimli could recall the panicked and worried look that Kili had sent towards his brother. Fili took it in his stride however and came to sit behind Kili, with little Sibit nestled between them so that the blond Prince could show Sibit how to braid Kili’s wild and unruly locks.

This scene had of course prompted Gloin into telling one of his stories about Gimil. It seemed even though he had now been reunited with his wife and son it had not ceased the red-headed Dwarf’s desire to tell stories about his pride and joy, much to Gimli’s embarrassment.

“Mr Gimli?” Frodo said and Gimli was drawn from his thoughts at being addressed in such a polite manner and with such a high-pitched voice. Dwarves you see were born fairly low-voiced. Never had Gimli heard a Dwarfling with such a light and airy voice as the fauntlings but then again it was only to be expected as they were much less solid and sturdy than Dwarf children.

“No need for a Mister. You can just call me Gimli, Master Frodo.” The young Dwarf said with a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

Gloin positively puffed up with pride and fatherly affection at the way Gimli was interacting with Bilbo’s current charges.

“He does me credit does he not Bilbo?”

Bilbo chuckled at Gloin’s not unfamiliar paternal manner.

“Indeed Gloin. I can see much of you in him already. You and his mother must be very proud. I’m just happy that the fearsome faunts are getting on with him.”

Bilbo shivered slightly as a gust of wind raced up the narrow pathway towards them and its sheer cold made his cheeks ache. To Bilbo’s surprise Gloin quickened his pace and began to walk slightly in front of Bilbo, the Dwarf’s stocky but larger frame acting as a shield from the wind and Bilbo let out a grateful sigh.

“Uncle Bilbo! Look!” Frodo’s voice suddenly came squealing from around Gloin’s berth and Bilbo laughed when Gloin scooped the faunt up so that Frodo could peer over his shoulder at Bilbo.

“What is it my lad?”

Frodo couldn’t speak he was so excited and instead wildly pointed his hand around. After clouting Gloin round the head a couple of times Frodo finally managed to calm down enough to point in the right direction. Bilbo followed the direction the faunt was gesturing and let out a soft ‘oh’.

Frodo’s excitement was indeed understandable.  The snow-covered Party Field had been transformed as had the small river that ran alongside it. Tents in bright and cheery colours were placed strategically around the field and along the riverbank. Vibrant reds, holly greens, some royal blues and a few cheerier yellow tents of various sizes. Bilbo could tell which were Dwarvish of course as the tents were slightly more ornate, intended to catch the eye more than the bright but practical tents of the Hobbits. Dwarvish tents had patterns on the fabric and some even had pointed tops or were circular in shape rather than the traditional square or rectangle.

Bright lanterns had been dotted along pathways and whilst they had yet to be lit, the sun shining brightly enough that there was no call for them as yet; they still sparkled and glittered in the wintery sun. There was a large central fire in the Party Field where the Green Dragon owners had set up a stall of sorts selling hot wines and ciders and their special hot chocolate for the little faunts (and the grown-ups too if Bilbo was going to be honest).

The river had been decorated too with the snow shovelled off its frozen surface. Poles marked the edges of the safe areas having been driven firmly into the riverbanks and then between each pole streamers, banners and little flags had been hung so as to ensure the safety of any who decided to go skating.

There were already several groups of faunts, tweens and grown Hobbits sliding, gliding or crashing about on the ice. Hobbits did enjoy skating but rarely did so unless they were absolutely, positively, without a doubt certain the surface upon which they skated was completely solid. Bilbo did not enjoy skating particularly but he thought he might venture out onto the ice just to reminisce about his childhood for a short while. (Before the Fell Winter came and destroyed most Hobbits’ happiness at the Winter Season and all the warmth and comfort that could normally be found in a smial in the coldest months was lost to the ever-present fear and hunger).

“Mr Bilbo?” Gloin’s voice shattered Bilbo’s recollections and he realised he had abruptly stopped in the middle of the pathway. The Company behind were all standing a slight distance back with worried looks on their faces.

“Nothing to worry about Gloin. Just thinking about what to have for supper.” Bilbo forced a cheery smile before trotting forward and leading Gimli and the faunts into the Party Field and the Winter Fete which was in full swing now.

“Mr Bilbo, would it be alright for me to take the faunts off and introduce them to a few of the Dwarflings?” Gimli said politely as their large group began to split off with the Company disappearing in amongst the crowds of Hobbits and Dwarves alike.

Bilbo smiled and looked at the eager and excited faces of all four faunts. Pippin was wriggling with excitement and Bilbo thought the smallest faunt might burst with the tension if he kept them waiting any longer.

“Of course Gimli. Just keep a close eye on them won’t you? They have a habit of getting into mischief, particularly Merry and Pippin.”

“Aye Mr Bilbo. I’ll keep a keen eye on them. I have the eyes of a hawk you know.” Gimli said with his chest puffed up slightly. Bilbo bit back a laugh as Gloin, who was stood behind his son winced and shook his head. Dwarves did not have keen eyesight for the most part. There were a few exceptions such as Kili but on the whole they were far better in the dark and stone tunnels of their mountains.

“I’ll join them, a chaperone and guardian of sorts Bilbo. You go on now and enjoy yourself. Take some peace and quiet from the rabble that’s been mooching off your hospitality for the last few days.”

“That isn’t necessary Gloin, but thank you. I have enjoyed having such a full smial but as long as you don’t mind watching out for the children…”

Gloin shook his head happily and then strode off after Gimli who was already giving Pippin a piggy-back as the smallest and youngest faunt had been having trouble seeing over and past the many broad girths of the adults.

Bilbo meandered through the Winter Fete, nodding occasionally at friends, the odd relative and neighbours. What the Hobbit didn’t notice however was his Dwarvish shadow. A certain King who had not succumbed to his nephew’s pleas to join them in their exploration of the Fete but had decided to follow their Hobbit instead.

Bilbo let out a happy murmur as he breathed in deeply. The smell of burning wood that’d had various winter plants added to it once it was ablaze mixed in the crisp clear air with the sweets and roasted chestnuts. Bilbo felt his mouth salivating slightly at the prospect of roasted chestnuts and he soon succumbed to the temptation and purchased a little paper packet of the treats to eat as he continued tottering round the stalls.

He made a few purchases, some which could be slipped into the deceptively deep pockets of his winter coat whilst the larger or bulkier purchases were wrapped and set aside to be delivered to his smial at the end of the Winter Fete or the following day. He’d spent a good hour or so at least meandering through the stalls until he ended up by the Green Dragon stall.

The Green dragon stall was selling warm spiced wine and Bilbo suddenly found himself overpowered by the smell and his stomach roiled and rocked with queasiness.

He staggered away from the stall hoping to find a quiet place away from the hustle and bustle where he could take clear breaths and control his suddenly panicked mind. The smell of the hot spiced wine clung to the inside of his nose and coated the back of his throat. It was overly sweet and thick and Bilbo gasped as he was flung back into a memory where his throat had been coated in another smell.

**

_Stumbling across the battlefield, trailing after the litter that had taken Thorin’s body away from him. The dwarves who had barged Bilbo aside and caused him to knock his already injured head again had not offered Bilbo any words, no explanation when they spirited the Dwarf King’s body away and towards the Lonely Mountain._

_The icy steps that led down from the top of Ravenhill were hazardous to any being attempting to ascend or descend them but a confused and dazed Hobbit with bandaged and burnt feet were more of a hazard. The bandages that had been protecting his burns were now coated with dirt, mud, blood, other unsavoury things and torn beyond mention. The icy cold of the stairs made his injured feet protest at the harsh treatment._

_Bilbo was halfway to Erebor when the smell hit him. Pungent, cloying, sharp and acidic. It made his eyes water and his nose itch. He felt it smothering his senses until he could barely see, smell or taste. All that was left was sound and the caws of the crows that lurked around the battlefield and the wind seemed to be louder than Smaug’s roar._

_Being so overwhelmed sent Bilbo to his knees and he clawed at his throat with blunt and dirty nails as if tearing at the column of his throat would remove the smell that was strangling him like a noose._

_He finally realised what the overpowering smell was. Blood._

_The ground before Erebor was soaked with it. It was everywhere; on plants, the soil, on weapons, armour, the Dwarves, Elves, Men, orcs and goblins that lay scattered like broken dolls were soaked in it._

_Bilbo raised his hand to his eye level and let out a wail. His hands were soaked in it too. Black and red that had gotten into the crevasses of his skin and under the tips of his nails. He reeked of it and everything was tainted with both its colour and smell. And Bilbo knew the majority of it wasn’t even his. It was Thorin’s. Thorin. Thorin. Thorin._

**

“Oomph!” A shrill voice exclaimed and Bilbo reeled back from whoever it was he had just crashed into.

“Bilbo Baggins! Don’t you dare just walk away from me after crashing into me like a drunkard!” Otho Sackville-Baggins squawked as Bilbo stared at him with glazed eyes.

Lobelia was there too but Bilbo managed to glance around dazedly and note that thankfully little Lotho wasn’t there. Bilbo always worried for the poor lad being raised by Otho and Lobelia and he could only hope that they were better, kinder parents than they were to their relatives and neighbours.

“Apologies Otho.” Bilbo muttered and sketched a little bow before attempting to move away (all he needed was peace and quiet, peace and quiet, peace and quiet) but was abruptly stopped by Otho’s thick and pudgy fingers wrapping around his forearm.

Bilbo let out a wordless cry as Otho’s fingers sunk through Bilbo’s thick winter coat and into his arm. Now having not had his usual appetite these last few weeks (or was it months, Bilbo couldn’t quite recall when food began to taste like ash) the Master of Bag End lacked the plumpness over his bones that would have prevented even Otho’s thick fingers from sinking into his arm and grasping it like it was a twig.

“Let me go! Let go!” Bilbo screeched and swung his free bandaged hand at Otho wildly, trying to scratch the other Hobbit’s face or startle him into releasing Bilbo’s bruised arm.

“You little beast!” Lobelia spat and Bilbo saw her coming towards him, a sword in her hand. Of course it wasn’t really a sword but rather Lobelia’s trusty umbrella but Bilbo couldn’t tell the difference in his panicked state.

He wriggled and bucked futilely trying to get Otho to release him.

“What is the meaning of this?!” A deep and powerful voice brought everyone and everything around them to a halt.

Dwarves who had been minding their own business but keeping a wary eye on the altercation going on between the trio of Hobbits were suddenly all standing straight and tall and looked ready to leap into action. Whispers began to race around the market “King Thorin!” and Lobelia and Otho glanced around almost nervously searching for the Dwarf who could cause such a stir.

Thorin strode forward and grasped Otho’s wrist with one hand. The much stronger Dwarf’s grip was tight on Otho’s wrist and the Hobbit yelped as he felt his bones grinding together. Bilbo was released from Otho’s grip and swept behind Thorin and towards Fili and Kili who had appeared out of nowhere.

The two younger Dwarves looked Bilbo over with concern and worry before cuddling him between them leaving only the tip of his curly head poking out from their arms.

“What business do you have with Master Baggins?” Thorin said coldly as he looked over the Sackville-Baggins’ gaudy and distasteful clothing.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business!” Otho spluttered and tried to pull his arm from Thorin’s grip but the Dwarf King was having none of it.

Thorin stared at the Sackville-Baggins with one of his most disgusted faces. Fili and Kili recognised it as being one of the more foul looks that Thorin normally bestowed upon King Thranduil. For the two Hobbits who had earned the Dwarf King’s ire to receive such a dark look was truly a feat of character.

Kili sniggered loudly in the silence.

“Uncle Thorin is not a happy Dwarf!”

Fili shot a look over Bilbo’s head at Kili and the pair shared a mischievous and equally excited look. It was not often that someone else received King Thorin’s anger or disgust. That was normally their position particularly when they had played a trick or caused some mischief somewhere.

“Bilbo Baggins is a valued and cherished member of my Company. A hero too many in the East. His valour and courage have saved many a life not withstanding my own and the lives of my nephews. To see him being treated thus disgusts and repulses me. As do your very characters and manners. If I see you manhandling or being derogatory again towards any Hobbit or Dwarf, not just Master Baggins, I will see that you are punished by your laws or some other unsavoury incident may befall you should you venture from the Shire…”

Thorin’s voice trailed off and there was no mistaking the eager note and almost hungry look in his eye that made Lobelia squeak in alarm and Otho’s face which had been bright with embarrassment drain of all blood.

“We understand!” Lobelia squealed and bowed low to Thorin. The Dwarf King released Otho’s arm almost flinging the Hobbit away from his person as if the very air they had shared was tainted and the Dwarf wished to rid himself of the pestilence.

Otho and Lobelia glanced around sneakily trying to see if they could rally anyone to their defence but instead they were greeted with disgusted looks from Dwarves and amused and jeering grins from the Hobbits who had long suffered the vile behaviour and manners of the Sackville-Baggins.

Otho pulled his clothing back to rights and sniffed. Thorin bored of their behaviour already took one step forward and the Sackville-Baggins fled, their booted feet almost melting the snow so quickly they departed the Winter Fete and cheers rang out at their exit.

“One might have thought they were being pursued by a bear do you not think brother dear?” Kili’s voice pierced Thorin’s irritated fog of thoughts and the Dwarf King turned to look at his nephews.

Fili grinned over Bilbo’s head at his younger brother before agreeing.

“A shapeshifter bear with a normal fondness for Hobbits Kili? A bear who likes the little bunny?”

“Oh give over.” Bilbo scolded from the depths of their embrace. Secretly of course Bilbo could have purred at the warmth and comfort he was receiving at that very moment from two Dwarves hug. Both were hot like a furnace and they smelt clean for a change. The fabric of their coats was smooth and soft against his slightly wind-burnt cheeks and he resisted the temptation to nuzzle Fili’s chest like a cat. He would never live that down.

“You know we do it out of love Mr Boggins.” Kili said dramatically and pretended to hug Bilbo tighter.

“How else can we convey our deep and everlasting emotion for our Bunny?” Fili asked in an almost sorrowful voice.

Bilbo stood between them and sighed exasperatedly. He could just see Thorin over the tops of the boys’ arms and the Dwarf King was watching the scene with an expression that was akin to fondness, bemusement and confusion all at the same time. It was quite a feat for the normally stiff-faced Dwarf King and Bilbo felt his (accursed) heart throb with a pang of (it wasn’t love damn it) affection. That was it. Affection. Just like the affection he felt for any member of the Company… Bilbo didn’t think he was fooling his heart as it throbbed again but he could do nothing but pretend otherwise (otherwise it would shatter, shatter like it did on the Battlefield when he was told they were dead and he had to leave).

“So Mr Boggins…”

“Yes Fili?”

“I’m not Fili… Oh.”

“I’m not Boggins either but you could just call me Bilbo if that will make it easier to get right Kili. Besides why did you stop? You and Fili were both calling me Bilbo after the escape from Thranduil’s dungeons?”

Fili and Kili exchanged wary glances before the blond Dwarf artfully and deftly distracted Bilbo.

“Bilbo, have you had a chance to visit Sibreg’s stall yet? She has some new wares out on display, ones that she usually saves for the nobles and rich Men but as the Hobbits seem to be in a generous mood she thought she might try selling some of her pricier items.”

“No I haven’t Fili. I was going to go over to her stall after I’d gotten some chocolate from Cosmos Bumbleroots little cart. She makes the most amazing chocolate sculptures and some interesting concoctions. Recently she’s been experimenting with adding flower essence to chocolates or to a cream centre which she coats in dark chocolate. I’ve grown rather fond of her Violet Creams but you might like some of her more exotic chocolates. It was the spicy food you liked in Lake Town was it not Fili?”

Fili nodded eagerly and shoved Kili away as the younger Dwarf opened his mouth to try and invade the conversation. Kili scowled and rubbed his arm slightly. Chocolate and spicy food were two things Fili gave no quarter for and more than once Kili had gained bruises from trying to intervene or being in the wrong place at the wrong time when Fili and his addictions were near each other.

Thorin chuckled at Kili’s pout and wrapped an arm around his youngest nephew. Kili looked up at his Uncle’s face in surprise. It wasn’t that Thorin didn’t care it was just he didn’t often show affection in such an open manner. Normally all family embraces or gestures were kept behind closed doors but it seemed the Shire was good for his Uncle.

“Don’t worry Kili. I’m sure Fili will remember why you wanted to show Sibreg’s stall to Bilbo once his stomach has been satisfied and his chocolate appetite fed. Why don’t you join Bilbo and Fili and buy some chocolates for your mother? You know that’s where Fili gets his sweet tooth from and if this Hobbit’s skills are enough for Bilbo to gush about then your mother will surely appreciate the gift.”

Kili’s face brightened at the idea and Thorin squeezed his nephew’s shoulders slightly in a one-sided embrace.

“I could send the chocolates with the Raven tomorrow couldn’t I?”

“Aye. She’ll be expecting a report from us all within the next few days and you know how she worries since…” Thorin trailed off as his eyes ran over Kili’s face and neck and towards the thin scar that was hidden beneath shirt, scarf, coat and beard.

“I know Uncle Thorin. I don’t blame you though. Mother certainly does.” Kili teased lightly and waited anxiously to see whether Thorin would respond to his teasing or whether it would send his brooding Uncle into a sulk.

“She always blamed me for everything.” Thorin grumbled with a scowl before his face brightened. “Did I ever tell you about the time she and Frerin snuck a herd of wild boar through the mountain, without being spotted and set them loose in the throne room during a meeting between Thror and Thranduil?”

Kili could have leapt as high as an Oliphant (but instead wisely refrained as he knew his Uncle would stop talking if Kili acted like a Dwarfling) and shook his head excitedly.

“Well,” Thorin began as he walked along next to Kili and they followed the two blonds who were deeply involved in a conversation about spices and chocolates. “It all started when that elf prince Legolas began boasting about the giant boar he had supposedly ridden. Your Uncle Frerin couldn’t stand the idea of the elf prince having managed to ride the animal that had scared him witless the other day on the royal hunt and called the elf prince out. Of course the elf prince had witnesses who backed him up and they all began to mock your Uncle Frerin. You know your mother, doesn’t stand for anyone hurting her family…”

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Gloin sighed as he followed Gimli and the fauntlings deeper into the Winter Fete. They had been to several of the stalls now and Gloin could have sworn that the Hobbits had managed to secrete sugary sweets in every pocket and some in places that Gloin dared not think about. Gimli had done nothing to discourage this behaviour however and when Gloin had tried the younger Dwarf had shot a sharp look and shook his head furiously at his father.

Well, Gloin had been so surprised by this behaviour that he had spluttered over his words causing the Faunts to think he was intoxicated like Frodo’s Uncle Rorimac who liked his Shire Ale a bit too much.

Now the Faunts were hyper on sugary food and Gloin was dreading taking them back to Bilbo in such high spirits. Well he was until all of a sudden Pippin turned an alarming shade of purple as he held a gloved hand over his mouth.

“Pip?” Merry said worriedly as he wrapped an arm around his friend.

“I wouldn’t worry Merry.” Gimli said almost cheerfully as Pippin sprinted away from the Fete and towards the bushes that sat at the edge of the Party Field. The other three faunts however scurried after their friend with Gloin close on their heels.

When they caught up with Pippin however they all exclaimed cries of revulsion or shared upset as they saw Pippin throw up nearly every sweet he had been shoving into his mouth. There were also alarmed cries from within the bush that Pippin was currently coating in his vomit and to Gimli’s great amusement two young Hobbits, older than tweens but not yet at adulthood sprang out from the bush and began wiping down their winter coats.

They were both in states of disarray and when they realised they had witnesses to their actions or at least to the after state of their interaction they both had amusing reactions. The male Hobbit’s face drained of all blood whist the female Hobbit turned a bright red that was almost the same colour as Gloin’s beard.

Frodo and Sam stared at the two young Hobbits who had just been caught hiding from their chaperones with interest and then to Gimli’s absolute delight Sam, who was so quiet and timid, spoke up in a frank manner.

“Have you been watering her garden Sparrow Hornblower?”

The male Hobbit’s jaw dropped as he stared at the faunt in horror. Gimli guffawed with amazed laughter whilst Gloin looked rather worried at the young faunt’s knowledge.

“My Ma says no Hobbit should water a lasses garden until they’re married.” Samwise continued on in a tone as if he was teaching them a lesson.

Sparrow Hornblower said nothing and was instead rescued by his female companion, a comely lass with dark curls and pale green eyes.

“We didn’t mean to Master Samwise. Just got a bit carried away like. Been at Old Gaffer’s homebrew you see.”

Samwise nodded sagely. He knew what Old Gaffer’s homebrew could do, his father’s brew was notorious for making Hobbits lose their heads and their sensibilities.

“Well Honeysuckle. We won’t say nowt if you don’t mention to any of Pip’s sisters, his mother nor Mr Bilbo how sick he got himself. Deal?” Samwise bargained and held out his little hand.

Honeysuckled glanced at her lover who was still staring at Sam with a slack-jaw and a pale face and she rolled her eyes. She turned her attention back to Sam and his little group, Frodo, Merry and Gimli who were all standing behind Samwise as if to back him up should she disagree and the adult Dwarf who was keeping an eye on them whilst rubbing the back of poor Peregrin Took who had finally finished puking.

“Aye Master Samwise. You have yourself a deal.” Honeysuckle held out her hand and shook the faunt’s. No sooner had she done so than she grabbed Sparrow Hornblower by the hand and dragged him back into the crowds of the Winter Fete.

“Nicely played Sam!” Merry complimented the otherwise quiet Hobbit and the group watched as Sam spluttered and blushed at the praise.

“It was nothin’ really. Just knew she didn’t want her Ma finding out she was in the bushes with Sparrow Hornblower. Her Ma wants her to let one of the Tooks court her.” Sam explained before shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking on his booted feet in slight embarrassment.

“That was quick thinking lad.” Gloin praised. “And I imagine none of you will be telling anyone about Peregrin’s misfortune now will you?”

“No sir!” The three faunts chorused as they took in the weary and tired form of little Pip who was cradled in Gloin’s arms with a sad expression on his face.

“Do you know why Pip was sick?” Gimli asked them with a straight face. Gloin watched curiously as the faunts thought it over before Frodo piped up.

“Because he ate too many sweets.”

“Right. So you can keep the sweets you’ve all hidden in your pockets but unless you want to be sick in the bushes like Pippin then you’ll eat them slowly and not all at once. Understand?”

A chorus of agreements came from all the faunts even little Pip who moaned slightly as his sore tummy ached.

“Now what shall we do to keep out of sight until Pippin feels better?” Gimli asked and then followed after the three faunts who dived back into the Winter Fete and began to lead the two Dwarves and Pip towards the games stalls.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Gimli sighed slightly. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to let the faunts play all the Dwarvish games. The games were designed to be difficult for Dwarves. Which meant they were set up to challenge things Dwarves weren’t always so good at, like restraining their strength or using their brains to solve the puzzle instead of charging in like bulls.

Faunts however were smart little creatures with the deftness and lightness that Dwarves lacked. Not only had the four faunts succeeded at every game they had taken part in they had also one the best prizes because no Dwarf could say no to the puppy dog eyes they were exposed to.

Now Gimli was currently carrying some monstrosity of a toy that Pippin had won. The tiny faunt had managed to succeed at the game which was meant to teach Dwarflings speed and the tiny faunt had outstripped everyone including his fellow mischief maker and companions. The prize for that particular game had been a toy made by Bifur of all people and no one was quite sure what it was.

It was made of fur and wood and was stuffed with wool. Pippin said it was a bear, Merry thought an Oliphant, Frodo said it was a Stone Giant and Samwise merely thought it was a whale. Privately Gloin and Gimli thought it was hideous and whatever creature it was supposed to resemble if it truly existed should either be killed on sight or pitied for Bifur’s representation of it.

The other faunts had also been successful in their enterprise and now had a plethora of prizes. Merry’s favourite was a sturdy and beautifully crafted slingshot, Sam had won a pair of thick leather gloves which would be perfect for gardening once his hands grew a bit, Pippin had his monstrous toy and a brown gem that had been carved into a pendant shaped like his namesake with its wings spread in flight and Frodo had won something that surprised them all. A small dagger made of a black-stone that had been sharpened carefully and was etched with carvings that had been filled in with molten silver. The handle of the blade was also silver and Gimli and Gloin had both noted the metalwork that looked suspiciously like Thorin’s.

While many of their people knew Thorin had worked as a blacksmith when the Dwarves of Erebor had been forced to wander the land, and that the Dwarf King was one of the best travelling Blacksmiths of their age, very few knew that the Dwarf King was actually a highly gifted silversmith also.

As a Dwarfling Thorin had of course had all his prince training to attend, as well as his warrior lessons, politics and various other skills that a prince was expected to have but his father and mother had also allowed him to learn a trade should hard times ever fall upon their son they wished him to be prepared.

Blacksmithing had been the first skill that caught the young Dwarf’s eye and Thorin had quickly lapped up all knowledge and found the best teacher who was willing to take on the Crown Prince without fearing injury or being terrified by his status.

Years had passed with Thorin growing more and more skilful in Blacksmithing until one day his attention was diverted to a Silversmith who was making a circlet for one of the Elves who had requested a Dwarvish circlet for his beloved’s birthday.

Thorin had returned again and again to the Silversmith to watch him at his work and eventually when he had received his Master’s status in Blacksmithing he approached the Silversmith and requested to learn some of the trade. Several times the Silversmith rejected the Crown Prince fearing that whilst the young Dwarf had passion he would not have the time required to dedicate himself to learning the art.

Thorin strove to prove the Silversmith wrong and eventually succeeded (after eight years of asking every day and reading nearly every book on Silver Work). Unfortunately Thorin was never able to achieve his Mastery of Silver Work as Smaug fell upon the mountain a few days before Thorin was to be given his final test and the Silversmith who had taken the Prince as his apprentice was lost to the fires of Smaug.

It had been many years since they had seen any Silver work produced by the Dwarf King and Gloin had marvelled over the dagger. Thorin’s signature could be seen in the way the metal had been twisted to form the handle, in the delicate artwork that scrolled over the hilt and in the artistic but strong curve of the pommel. A tiny mark was the only sign of the Silversmith who had created the blade and Gloin had produced a tiny eyepiece he used to check the quality of gold to better inspect the stamp. An Oak tree within a Dwarvish “D”. Thorin’s mark after the battle at Moria. Before that he had, had no reason to hide his skill and had always marked his work with the sign of Durin and his name.

After the fall of Erebor however Thorin had gone a long time without marking his work apart from a crude “T” and then after the Battle before Moria when he lost both father and grandfather but was saved by an Oak branch he turned his shame into his strength and created his stamp. Durin’s “D” with an Oak tree growing strong within.

“It is a beautiful dagger Frodo.” Gimli said softly as he saw the emotion swell within his father.

“Why is Mr Gloin upset Gimli?” Frodo asked softly, ever perceptive to the emotions of others.

“Because that dagger is special, it was made by one who has not been able to use his craft for a very long time.”

“Oh.” Frodo said softly and he cradled his little black dagger with even more reverence. He slid it carefully back into the little and plain leather sheath that had been fashioned for it before sliding it into his pocket.

“Look its Mr Bilbo!” Gimli said loudly as he hoped to distract the faunts and his father from the sombre and almost melancholic mood that had settled over them.

The distraction worked as the faunts scampered over to Bilbo who was stood between Fili and Kili at Sibreg’s stall with Thorin speaking to the Dwarrow whilst the other’s looked over her wares.

“Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo cried happily and hugged his Uncle when the older Hobbit wasted no time in plucking the dark-haired faunt from the ground.

“Look Frodo!” Bilbo said excitedly and pointed at one of the items sitting on Sibreg’s table. Frodo followed his Uncle’s finger and let out a shocked gasp.

There on the table lay a glass sculpture of Bag End. Smooth glass that curved and folded over to make the hill and was tinted with green. A round door that was tinted brown and partially swung open to reveal small sliver inside that had the exact same tile pattern that lay within the real Bag End’s doorway. The oak tree that sat upon the top of the hill was almost exact down to each and every branch and the crooks in the tree’s trunk. Flowers decorated the smial in the same bright colours that could be seen in springtime and Frodo gasped at each delicate flower.

Sam had seen the Bag End replica too and was naming each and every flower that had been artfully created and was a tiny replica of the real thing.

“It’s beautiful!” Pippin said from his place in Fili’s arms as the Dwarf Prince had scooped up the smallest faunt so he could better see. Merry and Pippin began talking as they looked at some of the other wares that lay on the table and trying to work out what each sculpture was, there was one they thought looked like Gandalf’s whizpoppers (but was in fact a sun pendant).

Frodo wriggled down from Bilbo’s arms and trotted around the table to ask the Dwarf Lady how she had known what Uncle Bilbo’s smial looked like but before he could he found himself tackled by a ginger ball.

Frodo let out a startled yelp and then cried out in pain as his small body was crushed under the weight of an equally small but much heavier body.

“Sibit!” The Dwarrow’s voice scolded and Frodo coughed as the Dwarfling was lifted off him and tears came to the faunt’s eyes. Frodo was not one to cry easily but he was shocked and his head hurt from where he had hit it on the wooden pole that held the cloth tent up.

The dark-haired little faunt bit his lip to try and hold back his tears and muffle the startled sobs that were trying to burst free from his mouth. Before he could cry out for his Uncle Bilbo however a larger form knelt down in front of him and thick fingers plucked his crimson hat from his head before diving into his silky curls and checking his head for bleeding or bumps.

Frodo felt tears trickle down his cheeks and was surprised at how warm the tears felt compared to the coldness of his skin. Sniffling and wiping at his cheeks with gloved fingers Frodo peered up at the large figure with tear-filled eyes. The form of the Dwarf King greeted him and with a wail Frodo threw himself at Thorin who after many years helping raise Fili and Kili was more than prepared to catch the small body and sooth injured pride and momentary bruises.

Frodo wailed as only a child can but it was muffled by the thick fur and fabric of Thorin’s coat and so did not draw too much attention. Bilbo had however by this point made it round the table of glassware and was rubbing his nephew’s back with his gloved hands.

Thorin kept up rubbing soothing circles on Frodo’s head to ease the sting of the bump away but the Dwarf King also began to murmur softly to the faunt in rumbling Khuzdul.

Slowly the faunt’s sobs slowed and then stopped and his tears gradually slowed until only a few escaped his eyes and made it down his cheeks. When Frodo leaned back in Thorin’s arms to peer at the Dwarf King with his own bright blue eyes, Thorin found his heart melting at the look of confusion and embarrassment that could be seen. A calloused thumb made its way up to Frodo’s face and much to Thorin’s surprise he swiftly and deftly wiped away the tears until the cheeks were dry and rosy once more.

Bilbo turned his attention to Sibreg who was kneeling down in front of a remorseful Sibit who was scuffing the ground with her boot whilst her mother scolded her fiercely.

The Hobbit coughed politely managing to interrupt Sibreg’s tirade and the Dwarrow looked up at Bilbo with an apologetic grimace.

“Sorry about that Master Baggins. Sibit will apologise to the young Master right now if that’s alright.”

The Dwarrow’s voice was like steel and all who were gathered near cowered at the sound. A mother was never to be trifled with and Sibit knew better than all how tough her mother could be.

The small Dwarfling moved forward until she was standing next to Thorin. The Dwarf King waited a moment before realising Sibit could not see Frodo properly and the faunt would only hide in the Dwarf King’s coat if he continued to hold him.

Much to Frodo’s dismay and worry Thorin began to lower Frodo back to the ground and waited to check the faunt had both feet planted in the snow and wasn’t wavering before letting go. Immediately Frodo scampered around until he was clutching the Dwarf King’s leg and had half hidden his face behind said leg. One blue eye watched Sibit’s face fall at the fauntling’s reaction but Frodo would not be convinced of her sincerity yet.

“Go on Sibit!” Sibreg chided patiently but sternly and the Dwarfling cleared her throat and placed her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers together nervously.

“I’m sorry for knocking you over Master Hobbit.” Her voice was trembling and it was clear to all that Sibit was just as upset about the whole incident as Frodo had been only she had not been physically hurt and so had yet to let the tears and upset flow out.

“Tell the faunt why you knocked him over and apologise again.” Sibreg encouraged.

Sibit stepped forward slightly as if she had gained courage from her mother’s words. Frodo however was not emboldened and squeaked and clutched Thorin’s leg tighter. The Dwarf King held back a curse at the tiny fingers that were driving into his muscles. It was surprising how strong a grip a child could have.

“I knocked you over Master Hobbit… cause you look like Prince Kili but smaller and less Dwarvish and I got excited cause I thought you was sweet looking and I wanted to give you a hug but you Hobbits is a lot softer than we Dwarves and when I went to hug you it knocked you over cause you isn’t like stone but you is like plants and Ma said we shouldn’t be rough with plants cause they isn’t like stone and so I’m sorry again Master Hobbit. I didn’t mean to knock you over and hurt you!” Sibit’s explanation ended with a mournful wail and her head tipped back as tears ran down her cheek and fell into her curly little beard.

Frodo watched with curiosity as Sibit cried silently. Not a sound escaped from her mouth. No wailing or caterwauling to be heard. It was nothing like the cries that Pippin’s sisters made when they were upset. Whenever they did it, it was because they wanted to get Frodo, Merry and Pippin in trouble but this little Dwarfling was genuinely upset.

Frodo glanced at Kili who was looking upset and slightly embarrassed but Frodo could tell why Sibit had gotten excited. Frodo did look like a smaller version of Kili. A small, skinny, hobbity version of the Prince. But of course Sibit would not have been able to see his pointed ears, being covered in his woolly hat, or his hair covered Hobbit feet as they were covered in his soft winter boots.

“It’s okay.” Frodo said softly. “I forgive you. Do you want to be friends?”

Sibit’s crying eased up and she nodded her head up and down enthusiastically her bright green eyes focussed on Frodo. The faunt put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief handing it to the Dwarfling who accepted and wiped her wet cheeks with it before carefully folding it and handing it back.

“Nah. You can keep it.” Frodo said with a small grin and Sibit’s cheeks flushed as she crunched the handkerchief in her fist.

“What’s your name?” Sibit asked almost shyly and her mother held back a gasp at the Dwarfling’s manner. Not often was Sibit shy but a mere few seconds conversation with a Hobbit child had reduced her strong-willed, loud-spoken, wild she-Dwarfling to a timid and tentative wee lassie.

“I’m Frodo Baggins. This is my Uncle Bilbo and that’s my friends and cousins: Sam, Merry and Pippin. We can all be friends if you like? We were going to go and see Mr Bofur’s stall cause he had some really call wooden toys the other day in Bag End and he said he was making a surprise for all the children today so we were going to go and see if we could sneak a look. Do you want to come? Oh, I forgot, what’s your name?”

Frodo rattled off at a speed that only Sibit, the faunts, Sibreg and Gloin could follow: the gift of being children or a parent came in rather handy at that moment.

“I’m Sibit, daughter of Sibreg and Bombur.” Sibit offered and then Frodo bowed and she did an awkward curtesy. Frodo grabbed her hand and began to drag her off towards Bofur’s wagon which was parked near the edge of the Party Field and had a circular shaped area marked out before it with barrels of hay covered in blankets.

“Well I never.” Sibreg said in astonishment as Fili, Gimli, Gloin and the faunts followed after Frodo and Sibit. “Never before has that little lass blushed for anyone. Not even for the Prince there.”

Bilbo and Thorin turned their attention to Kili who was standing in his original place still with a jaw-dropped expression. As they watched the adults saw the realisation fall over Kili.

“I’m free!!!” He cried and whooped as he came to the conclusion that Sibit’s behaviour over Frodo meant that her affections had moved on and no longer would he have to endure sticky fingers in his braids or her constant chasing him or scaring off the pretty Dwarf maids who were closer to Kili’s own age.

“Freedom!” Kili shouted happily and grinned blissfully at his Uncle and Bilbo.

“Are you sure you didn’t drop on his head as a child?” Bilbo said after a moment and Thorin merely snorted.

“If I did, do you think it would have made a difference?” Thorin replied tartly and they both watched as Kili scowled.

“I’ll have you know Mother thinks I’m very intelligent!” Kili said before spinning around and marching off without looking where he was going only to crash straight into Honeysuckle and Sparrow who were once again sneaking out of the watchful gaze of the chaperones.

Bilbo and Thorin stood side by side and watched in amusement as Kili tried to apologise repeatedly but only received a punch to the nose from the valiant Sparrow who tried to defend Honeysuckle’s honour as Kili’s fall had caused his hands to land on a very private part of the Hobbit lass.

“Definitely a damaged child.” Bilbo said and Sibreg and Thorin nodded in agreement…

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may have become apparent but I have a weakness for the idea of adorable faunts and dwarflings… And a weakness for a pair of Dwarrow Princes....


	6. Bofur and a Winter Story

Bilbo watched amusedly as Frodo and Sibit sat next to each other on small straw bales that were the perfect height for little faunts and Dwarflings to perch on and be able to see the strange wagon that was rather low for a Dwarf to use.

Bilbo had seen his dear friend Bofur going in and out of the small wagon and the Hobbit was intrigued as to what was about to occur. Bofur never did anything by halves. Raucous bawdy songs were always sung full-belt, jokes were always told with laughter and tears streaming from his dark but warm eyes and the funny-hatted Dwarf never left a tankard with beer in it, even if the last drop of drink would send him to sleep or crashing to the floor.

More Dwarflings were arriving in the little audience area and Bilbo saw with some amusement that the Dwarflings were eyeing the fauntlings with trepidation and wariness. Sibit and Frodo however were managing to ignore everyone around them and were happily whispering to each other, every now and again looking back at Bilbo, Thorin and the two Princes who were standing at the edge waiting for whatever Bofur was about to do to begin.

Merry and Pippin soon launched themselves in amongst the Dwarflings much to the small bearded Dwarflings consternation. The happy and friendly attitudes of Merry and Pip soon had some of the Dwarflings coming out of their shells and they all began chatting happily. Fauntlings joined in, those who had been round Bilbo’s smial the other day quicker as they boasted of spending the day with the famous Company of Thorin Oakenshield and how the King was a pretty amazing Dwarf.

Sam sat with Frodo and Sibit quietly as he was joined by little Marigold Gamgee who was sitting on his lap with her thumb in her mouth and her other hand had delved into the ruby red strands of Sibit’s long hair. The little Dwarfling hadn’t batted an eyelid in her conversation with Frodo and merely reached out to pull a single braid from Marigold’s grasping fingers but allowing the rest of her mane of her to be played with by the little faunt.

Bilbo smiled happily at the sight and glanced around for Ori hoping that the young scribe and artist would be able to capture the moment in his sketchbook. Instead of Ori however Bilbo found he was being frantically beckoned by Bofur who was leaning around one of the tents and waving for the Hobbit to join him.

Furrowing his brow worriedly Bilbo placed a hand on Thorin’s arm and was astounded as Thorin immediately gave him his full attention. Bilbo swallowed nervously at the intensity in Thorin’s (damned like those bloody flowers) blue eyes.

“Yes Bilbo?” Thorin rumbled and Bilbo felt the vibrations of the Dwarf’s voice even through his gloved fingers. He trembled slightly at the sensation before swallowing.

“Umm. Well I’m just going to go and speak with Bofur, I’ll be right back.”

Thorin arched his eyebrow but his face remained otherwise blank.

“Very well. You wished to inform me this because?” Thorin trailed off and waited for Bilbo to continue his train of thought. The Hobbit however was staring into Thorin’s eyes with an indescribable look in his own golden orbs and Thorin was hard-pressed not to lean down and kiss Bilbo senseless in front of all their kin and friends.

Bilbo blushed and shook his head as if to shake off the thoughts racing through his head of kissing Thorin once more, running his fingers through the King’s black and silver hair. The thoughts however did not leave his head and instead Bilbo managed to shake off just enough of the fog of desire to finish his question.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on the children until I come back? I know nothing will happen to them but they do get into mischief quite quickly if a careful eye isn’t kept on them. I mean you must know that already, having Fili and Kili for nephews. Not that they’re bad Dwarves or anything like that! I just mean they seem to have a mischievous streak, well I know they have a mischievous streak, and it was probably worse when they were Dwarflings. Although they are still really Dwarflings aren’t they? I mean Gimli acts more serious and I know he’s younger than Kili but you really wouldn’t think it from the way Kili acts. I’m rambling aren’t I?”

The three royal Dwarves stared at Bilbo with something akin to horror as the Hobbit finally stopped speaking and drew breath. They had heard their Hobbit go off on a tirade once or twice before but this time he had gone positively red in the face.

“I’m not that bad!” Kili protested loudly before yelping as Thorin reached around Fili and cuffed his youngest nephew around the back of the head.

“Of course Bilbo. I will keep an eye on all the children, including my nephews.” Then Thorin smiled, not a wide smile you understand, just a warm, happy smile that showed off some of his teeth and made his blue eyes sparkle.

Bilbo whimpered and Thorin’s eyes widened but before any more voluntary or involuntary noises could be made by anyone the Hobbit scampered off to where Bofur was now beckoning even more frantically.

Fili bit his lip hard and turned away from his Uncle. Thorin had watched the Hobbit go with a lust-ridden expression on his face and neither nephew had missed the King’s fingers twitching as if they had wanted to grab hold of the fleeing Hobbit and carry him away somewhere private.

Kili winked at Fili before both Princes dissolved into (very manly of course) giggles. Thorin turned slowly before slapping both his nephews up the back of the head and he grinned happily at the unison yelps his kin made.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bilbo had no sooner reached the edge of the tent than Bofur grabbed him by the arm and quite abruptly yanked him around the cloth surface. Bilbo yelped slightly but quickened his pace in order to keep up with his strange friend.

“My dear Bofur!  Whatever is the matter?” Bilbo asked with some amusement.

He had not seen the strange-hatted Dwarf so agitated since the whole mess with the (he wasn’t going to think about it right now, nope, no thoughts of that sparkly bloody rock within the mountain) object all those months ago.

“I’ve come into a bit of problem Bilbo.” Bofur said as he continued to pull the poor Hobbit along. The Dwarf easily wound his way past the tents, over ropes and pegs that held the cloth structures up whilst Bilbo found himself leaping quite large heights in order to avoid getting tangled up and bringing tents full of wares crashing to the ground.

“And what problem would that be?” Bilbo panted.

“Well you see, normally we put on a show, a little story for the young’uns at our markets around this time of year. We don’t have a Yule like you Hobbits but we do have a Dwarven festival that celebrates the middle of winter and all that.” Bofur drifted off in his head and Bilbo rolled his eyes before pinching the Dwarf’s arm.

Bofur yelped and looked at Bilbo with mock hurt before returning to his speech.

“Anyways, normally I do the talking and the like, you know, narrating the story for the little’uns and Bifur does the puppets. But Bif’s having a bad day you see, the axe in his head makes him forgetful, and he’s on a bit of a warpath. I dread to put him in the wagon with the puppets in case he loses it and breaks ‘em all and scares the faunts and Dwarflings. So I was wondering, Bilbo, me mate, me pal, me friend, if you would mind doing the narrating so I can do the acting?”

Bilbo came to a screeching halt, his booted Hobbity feet digging deep into the snow as he pulled back on Bofur’s arm. The Dwarf too came to a halt but was not quite so graceful and tumbled into a large snowdrift.

Bofur wriggled around in the snowy pile until he could face Bilbo and then he reclined on his side to watch Bilbo’s face go through various expressions. Horror, terror, confusion, worry, happiness, amusement, fond exasperation. Bilbo continued on for quite some time until Bofur was chuckling loudly.

“Oh do be quiet you silly Dwarf. Of course I’ll help you. I do hope you have the narration written down?”

Bofur leapt to his feet with an accomplished crow of relief.

“Of course my dear Hobbit, all written out nice and neatly by Ori. Has stage directions and everything so you’ll know how to read it like. All the pauses and the action scenes have been carefully noted down so all you have to do is read the story and the voices and I’ll do the rest. Oh and there’s a couple of songs and musical passages but don’t worry ‘bout them. The Company’s going to give me hand with those bits. You’ll be surprised to hear some of ‘em singing and playing.”

Bofur grabbed Bilbo and pulled him behind the little wagon. Clustered in the small space were several members of the Company; Dwalin, Balin, Ori, Nori and Oin. Bifur was there too but the poor Dwarf was sat with a blanket around his shoulders and a second placed over his knees and was staring blankly at everyone and everything.

“Will he be alright?” Bilbo softly asked Oin and the Dwarf nodded.

“Aye laddie, he has his moments every now and again. Been expecting one for a while but I reckon with all the youngsters around his attention’s been drawn away from the things that make him relapse. Now however he’s had a moment of peace and gotten lost in his head for a while. He’ll do no harm so long as he sits still and lets it all go.”

Bilbo smiled at Oin and the Dwarf grinned back.

“Right!” Bofur whispered. “Ori could you give Bilbo the script?”

Ori grinned and handed a rather thick sheaf of paper to Bilbo. The Scribe’s neat handwriting had outlined the title of the play in a curling but legible script and Bilbo slowly read through the opening words.

“The Nutcracker, A Traditional Dwarvish Tale. Starring the Company of Thorin Oakenshield’s:  Bofur, Ori, Nori, Dwalin, Balin and Oin. Narrated by the esteemed Bilbo Baggins- Oh for goodness sake I’m not reading out all this fancy rubbish!” Bilbo spluttered his cheeks lighting up.

Dwalin and Nori chuckled as Balin sighed and handed over a gold piece to each Dwarf.

“You don’t have to read that all out Bilbo, just say what we’re doing and we’ll do the who did what after the performance if we don’t get tomatoes thrown at us.” Bofur said suddenly morose and pessimistic. To Bilbo’s surprise the Dwarf had taken off his beloved hat and was wringing the old and worn fabric between his rough hands.

Bilbo leaned over and placed a warm and comforting hand over the miner’s.

“It’ll be fine Bofur. Now go and set up and give a thump when you are ready.”

Bofur nodded and swallowed loudly before jamming his hat back on his head (Bilbo thought he heard the fabric groan slightly at the rough treatment but luckily the hat didn’t burst apart at the seams or anything otherwise Bofur truly would have been a mess) and the others began to pick up instruments or pieces of paper with music written on them.

Bilbo flicked through the pieces of paper and skimmed over the words. He called Ori over for a moment in order to hear the pronunciation of the Dwarvish names (it would be simply awful to get it wrong in front of a group of Dwarflings and in front of the older Dwarves to be true, especially in front of a certain Dwarf, no Bilbo you won’t think about that right now!) and no sooner had he and Ori correctly altered Bilbo’s pronunciation than there was a load thump on the side of the wagon.

“Ready lads?” Dwalin said eagerly and Bilbo was worried at the glint in his eyes. It was as if the balding Dwarf was preparing to go into battle!

Taking a deep breath, to steel his nerves, Bilbo walked around to the front of the wagon and almost turned and fled immediately. The silence that fell suddenly and abruptly in front of the wagon was unnerving. If it had been summer Bilbo could have thought you’d be able to hear a cricket chirp but as it was winter Bilbo noticed the distinct sound of snow shifting and he thought it came from the hill several minutes walk from Hobbiton.

“Oh dear me.” Bilbo whimpered to himself as the intent and eager stares from Dwarf and Hobbit alike watched the gentleman Hobbit walk slowly to the seat that had been placed by the wagon for him.

Bilbo settled down into the chair, surprised at the nice cushions that had been placed against the wooden frame. He took a moment to shuffle and wriggle around and steadfastly ignored how his fingers had clenched and crumpled his script.

As soon as he thought he had delayed it long enough Bilbo looked up and felt a sudden lump in his throat. Thorin was directly opposite him and the Dwarf King was staring at Bilbo with a look that was so familiar to the Hobbit and it felt like it had been an age since he had seen such an expression. Bilbo’s tongued darted out to wet his lips and Thorin arched an eyebrow before nodding his head, encouraging Bilbo to begin.

The Dwarf King’s acknowledgement made Bilbo begin his narration.

“Dear Faunts, Dwarflings, Dwarrows, Hobbits and Dwarves! We hope you are enjoying the festivities and if you have the time, we beg you sit quiet and still and let us tell you a Winter’s Tale. A story of Adventure, Excitement, Magic and Love.”

The wagon’s side burst open, two wooden panels swinging to the side to show a rather large and elaborate stage. The group who were hidden behind the wagon struck up the music and after a nice little overture the story began proper.

“Once Upon a Time, for that is how all tales should begin you know,” Bilbo spoke clearly and confidently but managed to keep an edge of excitement and closeness, as if he was reading the story not to hundreds of Dwarves and Hobbits but just to his nephew and friends. As if he were sat by the fire in Bag End with one of his own little novels in his hands and dear Frodo curled up in his lap to see the pictures.

“There was a strong Dwarf line, with many relatives and friends. Every year on one day they would meet and share their year’s troubles and adventures, eat food, drink and be merry and happy. This year was particularly special as the heir to the Dwarf Line was finely old enough to stay up late for the celebrations. Her name was Mereniver and she was a fine Dwarvish lass with hair that gleamed like spun gold, eyes that glinted like sapphires and skin as smooth and pale as an opal.”

Bilbo resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the corny and entirely Dwarvish descriptions. A Hobbit would never compare another person to gems but rather to flowers or food. Far more reasonable descriptions, after all Bilbo had never met anyone who’s eyes sparkled like sapphires. (He steadfastly did not look at Thorin’s eyes that were the blue of those flowers and not the blue of sapphires. Of course they were not the blue of sapphires, in fact they were more like lapis lazuli…)

Bofur’s Mereniver puppet came trotting onto the stage, her hair did indeed gleam like spun gold particularly as Bilbo suspected it was made of spun gold. The Dwarflings gasped excitedly whereas the Faunts simply watched and waited for the story to begin proper.

“All their relatives came and they feasted and danced until late into the night. Mereniver was excited for the most of the party but she was saddened that her Uncle Glebur had not arrived.”

Sad music began playing and Bilbo recognised the sweet but low throbbing sound of Dwalin’s viol. It was surprising how smooth and tender the ham-fisted and oft brutish Dwarf could be and he elicited such a sweet sound from the instrument. Bofur’s Mereniver danced slowly on the stage and every now and again looked at the door on the stage as if waiting for her Uncle Glebur.

“Then, finally there was a knock at the door. Three steady and heavy thuds on the door! Mereniver rushed to the door and as soon as she had opened it she saw her Uncle Glebur standing with boxes of gifts in his arms and a strange package balanced on the top. Everyone greeted Glebur and he handed out his presents until all that remained was the strange package. He gave it to Mereniver who carefully and slowly opened it up to reveal a strange wooden doll. A Dwarvish warrior carefully carved and painted with a mechanism that meant his mouth opened wide and closed with a snap.”

Bilbo glanced up as a dance began between Mereniver and Glebur and the strange wooden doll was sat to the side watching. Thorin was standing where he had been but now Kili and Fili were leaning against their Uncle’s side both Dwarves looking much younger than their true years. Even Thorin seemed younger and the normally proud and kingly look on his face had softened.

The story continued on and on until Mereniver fell asleep with her mended Nutcracker, for indeed that was what it was held in her arms.

“The great clock struck midnight and Mereniver suddenly woke at the chimes. She could not find her Nutcracker anywhere and when she looked around for it her eyes fell upon a fierce battle that was taking place before the fireplace. A Mouse Army was fighting ferociously against an army of gingerbread men and toys led by her Nutcracker! As she watched Mereniver realised the Great Hall of her Ancestors was growing in size! The walls rose up high above her until she was but the size of the toys and mice and gingerbread men.”

There were shouts and calls from the Faunts and Dwarflings as the fierce battle raged upon the puppet stage. Bilbo had no idea how Bofur was managing it. There were so many hand-crafted puppets on stage, some of them Bilbo suspected were on doing set movements as they were moving in repetitive motions, lunging and swinging swords around with all the mice or gingerbread men in a row. Other puppets were moving independently however, Mereniver was dancing around the stage as she avoided the battle whilst the Nutcracker puppet, who was a large version of the original toy, fought against a mouse bigger and stronger than all the others.

Whoops and cries rang from all the children as the gingerbread army seemed to be defeated and the Nutcracker was fighting the Mouse King alone.

“Just when the Mouse King knocked the Nutcracker onto his back and the mice began cheering as they waited for their King to finish the battle, Mereniver pulled off her boot and threw it hard at the Mouse King. The Mouse stumbled back in surprise as the boot glanced off his head and that gave the Nutcracker the moment he needed and he managed to injure the Mouse King.”

Sibit had leapt to her feet and shouted out something in Khuzdul at this and she was not alone as all the Dwarflings shouted out a familiar war cry. Bilbo had heard it before. Thorin rallying his people in front of the Lonely Mountain. For a moment Bilbo thought his throat might close up and the panic might overtake him but he saw Thorin look at him worriedly.

Bilbo smiled back and the stoic Dwarf smiled back in reply and settled back to his relaxed stance with a docile and content looking pair of nephews leaning against him.

The first act ended with the Mouse King swearing vengeance on the Nutcracker and Mereniver and the Nutcracker enter the Nutcracker’s kingdom where snowflakes dance and Mereniver joins them.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

The second act flowed along smoothly and Bilbo found himself utterly entranced and captivated by the story and the puppets that Bofur effortlessly and masterfully moved around the stage.

The Hobbit knew he wasn’t the only one so entranced as the children of both races were fully engaged in watching the scenes play out. There wasn’t even a twitch as the story came to an end. No one left to go get food or find something new to do. They were all absorbed in the story and the company of one another.

This is what Winter is about, Bilbo thought to himself, family, friends and good times.

After the play finished and the rapturous applause finally ceased Bofur and the Dwarves made their way to the Green Dragon stall and all scooped up flagons of well-deserved beer.

Bilbo too had a small flagon but instead of swigging it down and demanding another with a loud cry, he sipped his slowly and wandered off towards the quieter parts of the Fete.

Bofur joined him after a short while and flopped down onto the snow uncaring of the cold which would slowly seep into his woolen coat and trousers.

“Thanks Bilbo.” Bofur said softly and clinked his flagon against Bilbo’s in a very gentle tap.

“You’re most welcome Bofur. I would always help a friend out.”

Bofur gave the Hobbit an almost shy smile before taking a long drink.

The pair sat and stared at the Winter Fete from their little hillock and watched as Hobbit, Dwarf, Faunt and Dwarfling mingled and chattered happily. This was what Bilbo had hoped and imagined Erebor might look like after they reclaimed the mountain, minus the Hobbits of course, but Dwarves thronging and rejoicing and merry-making in their home.

“Were there many celebrations when your people returned to the mountain?” Bilbo asked Bofur and the strange-hat tilted jauntily as it’s owner thought long and hard.

“Aye there were. Feasts and dances. But not till long after we first claimed it. It took a while you see. For Thorin and the boys to wake. We set out making the mountain habitable again with help from Dain.”

Bofur was so lost in his telling that he didn’t notice Bilbo’s slight wince at the mention of Thorin’s cousin. Bilbo bit his lip hard and shoved his suddenly trembling hand into his pocket so his dearest friend wouldn’t see it shaking.

“After Thorin and the boys woke up we celebrated. Reclaimed every inch of their beloved Erebor and then Thorin offered Bif, Bombur and myself homes in the mountain. A place to belong. I can’t tell you how happy I was Bilbo to finally have a home after so long.”

Bilbo smiled as Bofur looked down at him and nudged him with an elbow.

“What about you eh? How was your beloved hobbit hole when you came back?”

Bilbo groaned and buried his head in his flagon.

“My detestable relatives had moved in and they were hawking off my belongings! I had to prove who I was with something with my signature and a guarantor! The only thing I had was that stupid contract that Thorin and Balin had signed.”

Bofur let out a guffaw of laughter and wiped tears from his eyes.

“So did you have to buy back your doilies?”

“No.” Bilbo said with a pout. “They said no one wanted the crotchet. Other stuff I had to buy back but a lot of it I just replaced with new items. I wanted a change.”

Bilbo thought back to how he had replaced a lot of his furniture, especially in his little retiring room. The room which had been filled with Dwarves singing of their long lost gold and stolen home. The seats, rugs, ornaments had too many memories. The bedrooms where the Dwarves had slept had long needed an update and redecorating.

“But how were you Bilbo? When you came back?”

Bofur was suddenly very serious and Bilbo fidgeted under the Dwarf’s strong and stern gaze.

“I was – as can be expected considering I thought Thorin and Fili and Kili were dead. What was even worse than that was that the last words Thorin and I said to each other, minus the death speech on Ravenhill, were words of hate and contempt. Thinking that Thorin died not knowing how much it hurt me to betray him, even though it was to save him, hurt almost as badly as him being dead.”

Bofur nodded slowly.

“Aye. I could imagine how that would make you feel. But you know it weren’t your fault right? That Thorin’s heart had been taken over by gold-sickness. That the Dragon’s spell that lay over the hoard affected all of us? Except you our little burglar who only wanted his friends to have a home and to go back to his own little hobbit hole with the simple comforts of home.  
That was what brought me out of it you know. Seeing you so upset at all of us behaving like dogs drooling over scraps of meat on aged bones.”

Bilbo leaned against his friend and sighed.

“It was all so horrible. I couldn’t understand how you all suddenly changed. But then you all came back, even if it took Thorin longer than the rest of you.”

Bofur chuckled.

“Well you know Thorin. Stubborn, strong-headed, proud, foolish and so wonderfully hopeful that is almost unbelievable.”

Bilbo laughed too.

Bofur licked his lip almost nervously before clearing his throat.

“Bilbo.”

“Yes Bofur.”

“Do you still, you know. Well – uh – do you still have feelings for Thorin?”

The night around them fell silent as Bilbo thought over the question and the pair sat in companionable silence with only the faintest sound of the Fete piercing their companionship.

“Yes.” Bilbo said softly and he felt Bofur sigh.

“Good.”

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

From the bottom of the hillock where Bilbo and Bofur sat, hidden behind a very prickly holly bush a certain Dwarf King held back a crow of happiness as the Hobbit’s whispered answer reached his ears.

* * *

 


	7. Bifur and Tea and Trinkets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Bifur is speaking Ancient Khuzdul/Iglishmek it will be in italics because I am not learning Ancient Khuzdul for the few lines he says…

The Hobbit: A Dwarf is for Life not Just for Christmas

Chapter 7  
Bifur and Tea and Trinkets

* * *

Bifur found life puzzling. Most of the time he struggled to stay on the same path as everyone mentally and occasionally physically. Ever since the damned axe had gotten embedded in his skull his mind had been un-co-operative to say the least and his body would try to do strange things which he hadn’t asked it to: for example walk off the path in Hobbiton and instead take a route down by the river, across the field, back around the Party Tree, past the river and then back up to Bag End, a route which was almost twice as long as the actual path but he found himself compelled to do it or his mind wouldn’t settle.

He knew people thought he was completely stupid now. That the axe had not only taken away the Common Tongue and most present Khuzdul words (apart from the odd word some which were useful others which were decidedly not. Being able to say Stop and Idiot in present Khuzdul was helpful but Bifur had yet to find himself in a scenario where ‘Petrichor’** was needed. It wasn’t like Dwarves talked about rain much but especially not in such lavish terms) but also Bifur’s intelligence.

So what if he couldn’t do everything that he used to. He’d never mine again and he couldn’t be trusted in a kitchen on his own as he tended to get distracted and accidentally set things on fire or chop bits of his fingers off. He could however tend to animals very well, he understood them on a deeper level now that was instinctive and couldn’t be learnt or taught, he could carve figures and toys from wood although no one seemed to like the creations his mind had come up with. Bifur was also very good at watching everyone else and learning things.

Bifur thought he might know even more secrets than Nori, which would be a feat indeed, but no one payed attention to the ‘damaged-dwarf’ and it was as if Bifur slipped into the background, became a piece of the scenery or furniture. And Bifur also loved to hear others talking even if he couldn’t reply verbally he could normally convey his thoughts in some way or another.

Listening to the faunts chatter at him was soothing. He liked their soft voices when they were tired and sleepy. He enjoyed the enthusiasm little Sam couldn’t contain when he showed Bifur his book filled with pictures and descriptions of plants. He found Pippin’s high-pitched laughter and taunts invigorating as the tiniest faunt clambered all over Dwalin and pulled on the normally stoic Dwarf’s beard. Bifur also felt in his bones that one day Merry would become a great story-teller as the faunt had a natural gift for narrating the faunts’ escapades and tricks as well as some of the tales of the Shire with a keen perception and an eye for detail. Frodo too was a gifted storyteller with an ear for languages. The little faunt unbeknownst to any of the other Company members or even to his friends had picked up some of the Ancient Khuzdul Bifur spoke. Just a few short words and phrases accompanied by the corresponding and necessary Iglishmek hand symbols and gestures.

Bifur also liked Bilbo’s voice. The older Hobbit had at the beginning of the journey been a grating voice, too clean and well-spoken and out of place on the journey. As time passed however and Bilbo relaxed into the Company and become a friend rather than a tolerated outsider his demeanour slipped and the formality eased.

Bilbo was good at describing things. He could talk about something and literally send Bifur’s fractured mind to the place or thing he was describing. When Bilbo had talked about Smaug Bifur had almost felt the sharp coldness of the gold as Bilbo slipped and slid on the towering mounds of treasure and the oppressive darkness which had weighed on the Hobbit so as if the mountain was bearing her weight upon him.

Bifur liked listening and so it was he found himself one night listening to Bilbo Baggins.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bifur couldn’t remember why the dream had woken him up. He did know that it had been a combination of memories and imagination that had transformed and mutated into something so utterly disjointed that it was terrifying. He had woken abruptly with a growl and with a light shimmer of sweat covering his entire body.

Bofur who was sleeping in the bed across the room had only rolled over to face the wall, well used to his cousin’s night-terrors by now he only woke when Bifur was consumed by the terrors which normally meant the axe-ridden Dwarf was screaming like a wounded animal or charging around destroying things as if consumed by blood-lust.

Bifur decided to go for a meander around Bag End. Maybe the change of scenery would calm his racing heart and pounding head.

He picked up the candle and matches that rested on the small table by his bed and slipped from the room.

Once in the hallway of Bag End he lit the candle with a match that it took him several strikes to light as his hands were shaking so. He had even managed to singe his fingers slightly as the tremors made holding the flame close to the wick difficult.

Finally having lit the candle Bifur walked the hallways of Bag End, sucking his singed finger and thumb lightly to remove the sting of the burn. He noticed absently the snores of some of his companions as he passed by their rooms. The rumbling noises like thunder or small rocks tumbling down a mountain were familiar and soothing.

It was when he found himself in Bilbo’s family room that the shakes and tremors finally stopped. The room where the Yule Tree stood in the hollow before the window and the decorations that glinted from the light of Bifur’s candle.

Some of the decorations piqued Bifur’s interest and he moved over to the fireplace to place more wood on the dying embers that were still glowing in the grate. The wood soon caught and the smell of the different timbers burning filled his nose with scents that he associated with Bilbo’s smial and all these happy memories that he had been making in the last few days.

There were a few pinecones in a basket next to the fireplace and Bifur eagerly tossed a few on, watching as they snapped and popped and the scent of pine filled the room and his nose. With more light and warmth filling the room Bifur turned his attention back to the decorations that had his fingers twitching with interest.

The figurines that hung from the branches of the tree were all hand-carved. Some were Hobbits in winter clothing doing various wintery activities like ice-skating or building snow Hobbits or kissing under mistletoe (which was a strange custom even to Bifur’s crazy mind). Other decorations were animals carved in various poses but each figurine had captured the essence of the animal. A stag looking alert and at the viewer looked as if it would spring into action at any moment. A squirrel holding an acorn looked as if it might come alive and start nibbling into the nut while a mouse nibbling a piece of cheese seemed to twitch its whiskers as it gnawed away.

Bifur had seen the same style of carving around the hallways of Bag End, flowers, fruits and plants that had been carved into the posts around doorframes or across the lintels of some of the rooms. Little secret carvings that only keen eyes could spot.

So engrossed in his perusal of the Yule Tree decorations was Bifur that he utterly failed to notice Bilbo come to stand at his side.

“My father carved them.” The Hobbit announced his presence and Bifur yelped like a puppy and jumped a few inches off the ground in surprise.

Bilbo snorted slightly at the startled expression on Bifur’s face.

“The carvings,” He tilted his curly head at the tree clarifying his statement. “My father carved the wooden decorations the year I was born. He had been making one or two when he married my mother and after he built Bag End but the year I was born he decided he wanted to have something to pass down to me for the Yule holiday. So he spent the months between my birth and my second Yule carving and making these. A few he made later on when inspiration struck but the majority of the wooden carvings were made for me.”

Bifur grunted and stroked the face of a grumpy looking badger with the tip of his finger.

“That one is mine I’m afraid.” Bilbo chuckled. “I was adamant that I wanted to make my own decoration to go on the tree and when my father began teaching me we soon discovered that I had little talent at wood-carving. My badger ended up looking very angry. My father had to rescue it and after lots of careful work the end result was the grumpy badger. I called him Trufflehunter.”

Bilbo pulled the blanket that he had wrapped around him further up his shoulders. Bifur recognised it as the blanket Ori had knitted for Bilbo on the journey back from Erebor and the Blue Mountains back to the Shire. Despite the thickness and softness of the wool Bifur could see that Bilbo was shivering.

 _“Night-terrors?”_ Bifur grumbled in Ancient Khuzdul and pushed his chin out at Bilbo.

“Oh, not too bad. Just unpleasant ones.” Bilbo seemed to know what Bifur meant. “I was just coming to get a cup of tea. Would you like some? I promise it isn’t the dishwater blend that all you Dwarves hate.”

Bifur stuck out his tongue and pulled a disgusted face. The dishwater brown tea that the Hobbit drank with most meals was weak and tasted like soggy leaves. None of the Dwarves could stand it but Bilbo seemed to swear by it.

The Dwarf shrugged his shoulders and followed Bilbo into the kitchen where Bilbo filled his kettle and placed it on the warm stove to heat up. Instead of going for the tea caddy with the usual blend in it Bilbo began to pluck different tins and jars down. Bifur held out his arms and grunted and Bilbo gratefully loaded the Dwarf down with some of the tins.

They then sat themselves down at the well-worn but loved kitchen table that stretched almost halfway across the room. Bilbo pulled his brown teapot over and then opened it up.

“A nice soothing tea I think would be best? This is my own personal blend of tea so I can’t guarantee the taste will be the same every time.” Bilbo smiled softly.

Bifur watched curiously as Bilbo opened up jars and tins his fingers dipping into the pots and pulling out various leaves and dried plants. Bifur pulled one of the jars over and pulled the lid off with a pop in order to sniff it.

He reeled back with a scrunched up face at the over-powering scent that wafted out of the jar burned his nose and made his eyes water at the strength. Bilbo chuckled as he pointed at the label on the jar.

“Liquorice. It’s supposed to be good for you but I personally only drink it when I’m ill or hungover after a party. You might prefer this.” He pushed a tin over to Bifur and the Dwarf warily opened it after shoving the evil liquorice jar away from him.

This tin had a much more pleasant smell and Bifur found his tense muscles relaxing as he breathed the scent deeply.

Bilbo watched curiously as Bifur tipped the tin up and poured a small amount of the contents into his hand to smell it better.

“Rosebuds. They are a very soothing and have a sweet taste. I can make you some later if you like.” Bilbo offered and Bifur nodded eagerly.

The kettle began to whistle on the stove and Bifur quickly stood and walked around to lift it onto a wooden board next to the teapot. Bilbo thanked him and they waited in silence for a minute or so before Bilbo gestured to pour the water into the teapot. Bifur slowly and mindfully tipped the kettle making sure the water didn’t splash Bilbo.

Bifur grunted again when Bilbo thanked him and returned the hot kettle to the wooden board. He returned to his seat and waited for Bilbo to tell him it was okay for him to pour the tea. Bilbo’s bandaged hands would not be able to have a firm grip on the smooth handle of the pot and any breakage would upset the Hobbit and probably wake the rest of the slumbering Company and faunts.

Trying to fill the silence Bifur pointed at the teapot and then at the jars and tins, silently asking what Bilbo had put in the tea.

“Oh, I forget to tell you!” Bilbo exclaimed and he pulled jars and tins open before handing them to Bifur so the Dwarf could inspect them himself.

“Camomile has a soothing effect so I popped that in for the both of us. I had some lemon balm and blackcurrant leaves so those went in too. Peppermint and sunflower too and I managed to cut some wonderful pieces of heather earlier in the year so that went into the pot too. There’s another ingredient but that’s my secret so I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

Bifur nodded his head understandingly. Dwarves didn’t tell trade secrets to outsiders or to other Dwarves of their craft. It was something Dwarves and Hobbits had in common: metal and mining secrets and hidden ingredients in recipes.

Finally Bilbo produced two cups and placed them on the table for Bifur to fill them with tea. They sat and cradled the warm cups between their hands and Bifur breathed in the combination of ingredients that had created and interesting smell. It was neither sweet nor sharp but rather a soothing if unfamiliar scent.

When Bifur eventually sipped the warm brew he was surprised at the taste. It was nothing like Bilbo’s dishwater tea. The Dwarf hummed happily and quickly drank his first cup before pouring himself another.

“Good?” Bilbo asked with a smile on his face.

“Hnn.” Bifur grumbled and mock scowled at the Hobbit. The Dwarf hadn’t failed to notice that Bilbo’s shivers weren’t stopping.

 _“Old memories or more recent?”_ Bifur asked and Bilbo frowned for a bit. They sipped their tea as Bifur waited to see if Bilbo could understand at all what the Dwarf was asking or whether Bifur would have to try and act out what he was trying to ask.

“I’ll stop shaking in a bit. My dreams were unsettling. Bad things happen it seems whenever I’m near anything cold and icy. Like Thorin or the time I fell in the river whilst ice-skating or the Fell Winter.”

A shiver wracked Bilbo’s smaller frame and Bifur was surprised at the ferocity of the involuntary action. It was so fierce a shiver that it almost sent the Hobbit from his chair.

Bifur poured Bilbo another cup of tea and the Hobbit smiled gratefully and took a long drink of the soothing concoction. Bilbo began to chatter quietly about nothing much in particular. There was no talk of the events at Ravenshill or the cruelty Bilbo had faced in Erebor. Nor did Bilbo elaborate on whatever the Fell Winter was.

Bifur grunted and replied when it seemed necessary and the banal chatter seemed to sooth both of them further and Bifur found his troubled mind eased by the warmth Bilbo showed him and the companionship of someone who didn’t judge but accepted everything.

When they had finished that pot of tea Bilbo made up another, scraping the old leaves and herbs out of the pot and rinsing it out so the taste would not contaminate the fresh blend. This time Bilbo only put rosebuds in the teapot and Bifur sniffed eagerly as he poured the water onto the dried buds which seemed to come to life and change colour as the water was added.

Bilbo also snuck a couple of biscuits out from a secret box that he had hidden amongst his saucepans. Sugar biscuits that were sweet and complimented the rose tea.

Bifur was almost bouncing in his seat when Bilbo eventually said that the buds had steeped long enough. The steam swirled off the top of the cups and Bifur almost inhaled the water through his nose so eager was he to taste the tea.

When it hit his tongue the Dwarf let out a long and low groan of pleasure. It was as good as it smelled and he closed his eyes to appreciate the taste.

“I take it you like this one too?” Bilbo asked and Bifur opened his eyes and nodded eagerly. Bilbo chuckled and pushed the plate of biscuits over to Bifur who took one and ate it in two bites.

“Good, good. Flowers have many uses. They are pleasant to look at but many of them can also be used in cooking or as medicine. Rosebuds was my mother’s favourite tea and I have a Winter-blend that my father was particularly fond of. He used to drink it whenever he was writing or carving. I’d find him in the study ledgers and official documents scattered around with curls of wood from his carvings dotting the space too. And always a cup of Winter tea sat close to his right hand.”

Bilbo smiled fondly at the memory and Bifur watched as the Hobbit fell into old memories. There was no sign of the shivers that had plagued Bilbo earlier and the icy look that had been in his brown eyes had faded away, chased off by the warm tea and solid company of the Dwarf.

Bifur too found himself feeling calmer and more clear-headed than he had felt in months.

“I haven’t tried carving since they died.” Bilbo said off-hand. “I don’t think my skills have improved much since I was a faunt. I did think about asking the local carver to make some new decorations but I was not feeling particularly festive this year. It would have been nice to have some new ornaments for the tree.”

Bifur made a mental note of this and watched as Bilbo’s eyes drifted shut a few times as sleep beckoned the still too thin Hobbit back to its embrace. Bilbo wavered on the seat and Bifur grunted worriedly. Bilbo’s eyes flew open and he realised why Bifur was worried.

“Hmm seems time for me to return to my bed. Would you like one more cup of rose tea to take to your bed Master Bifur?”

Bilbo gestured to the teapot and Bifur gratefully poured another cup and reverently cradled it between his worn and scarred hands.

Together the Hobbit and Dwarf made their way back past the Yule Tree and the ornaments that now held a deeper meaning to Bifur and back down the hallways of Bag End. The rumbling snores of the Company were still sounding and there were a few high-pitched whilstling snores coming from the faunts room.

“All is well.” Bilbo said softly with a fond smile on his face. Bifur nodded and freed one hand in order to ruffle Bilbo’s golden hair. The Hobbit leaned into the touch with a happy smile before bidding Bifur goodnight and going into his bedroom, Ori’s blanket trailing like a cape behind him.

Bifur too made his way back to his bedroom. Bofur hadn’t moved an inch since he left and despite the glow of the candle the younger Dwarf remained deep in sleep. Bifur slid into his bed feeling the soft brushed cotton warm his slightly chilled feet. He slowly drank his rose tea and used his free hand to sketch in his workbook, ideas for toys springing to his mind.

Bifur scratched at the area around the axe with the end of his pencil as an idea struggled to come to the fore of his mind. It was on the last sip of tea that inspiration struck and with a victorious crow that did wake Bofur, Bifur knew how he could make Bilbo happy.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bilbo watched in amusement as Bofur came wandering through Bag End laden down with yet more branches. There had been much activity that morning and afternoon in Bag End.

During breakfast Bifur and Bofur had sat down either side of Ori and after calming the startled scribe who had been absorbed in drawing. Bifur had been talking animatedly to Ori and barely waiting for Bofur to translate before going onto his next question.

Ori had agreed to whatever Bifur had asked and Bilbo had watched in amusement as the trip disappeared off to Ori’s bedroom where they had all remained sequestered for most of the day. Bofur had been in and out of the room carrying branches and tools back and forth and all three had come out for elevensies and lunch.

Apart from that they had been unseen and none of the company seemed to know what was going on. The faunts had been most disgruntled at having their storyteller, Ori, taken away from them and instead had decided to play with Fili and Kili. Bag End had been a battleground for the majority of the morning and after Fili had come tumbling down the hallway and hit his head hard on the flagstones in the kitchen Bilbo had with Thorin’s aid put a stop to the battles.

Fili still had a slightly dazed look from hitting his head, even after lunch and so Bilbo had relegated them all to the family room. Much to his amusement only a few minutes after lunch the youngest of them had fallen asleep. There was a Dwarf and faunt pile on his rug in front of the fire. Kili and Fili had been wearing only there thin cloth shirts, having forgone their coats when it was decided that the majority of the day would be spent resting inside.

Fili lay with his back to the fire and the flames were causing his golden hair to burn like a lion’s mane. The heir to the throne of Erebor looked far more relaxed and content than he had when they arrived at Bag End. Bilbo wondered if maybe Thorin wasn’t putting too much pressure on Fili. It had been clear during the Quest that Thorin expected a level of perfection from his oldest nephew that Fili struggled to live up to.

The Hobbit sighed and carried on watching the sleeping faunts and Dwarves. Kili was facing the open room but he had one arm stretched back behind him and Fili’s hand was grasping it lightly. Between them were Pippin, Merry and Sam who had snuggled down into the space between the Dwarves with Merry using Fili’s arm as a pillow, Pippin had his head on Merry’s stomach whilst Sam was pressed up against Kili and his hand was holding onto the dark-haired Dwarf’s hair. Frodo on the other hand was wrapped up in Kili, his face buried into the Dwarf’s neck and partially hidden by the silky beard that Kili now sported.

Bilbo had spent the morning in his kitchen with his various jars of tea, spices, herbs, flowers and dried fruits creating packets of tea for Bifur. He had seen how delighted the Dwarf had been with the more exotic tea they had drunk last night. The rosebud tea had always done wonders for his mother so Bilbo had decided to packet some of the rosebuds up in small paper bags which had then led him to make more packets of teas. Some were soothing blends that contained things designed to calm, soothe, promote sleep and relieve stress. Others were purely for taste such as the Winter Tea and one which Bilbo thought Bifur would like, a tea that made Bilbo think of summer as it contained Oranges and cream.

Bilbo had used some of his finest quality labels to write the contents of each bag and directions on how much to use and how long to brew each tea. All the bags had been carefully sealed and packaged in a wooden box that his father had once received as a gift from a thankful tenant. Each packet fitted neatly into a slot in the box and the box itself was slim enough to go in a pack without taking up too much room.

Bilbo had been waiting to give Bifur the box all day but with the axe-ridden Dwarf squirreling himself away the chance had yet to become available. Instead Bilbo had spent his afternoon discussing knitting patterns with Dori and looking over some old maps with Balin. Thorin had been stalking in and out of Bag End too and every now and again had come into the family room opened his mouth as if to say something before biting it back and slinking out again.

The first few times it had happened everyone had looked as confused as the other but by the fifth time Nori was sniggering and Dwalin was thumping his head on the wall.

Yet again Thorin stalked into the room and paused. This time he hovered for longer and a sound finally made its way out of his mouth.

“I-um-yargh!”

Thorin scowled and all but ran from the room the door to the smial slamming shut in his wake.

“How many times has he been in and out now?” Kili mumbled sleepy and his bright blue eyes stared up keenly at Bilbo.

“Umm…” Bilbo said weakly.

“Ugh.” Kili replied and closed his eyes again. “Next time he comes in tell him to sit down and shut up.”

“I’ll do no such thing!” Bilbo spluttered and wrung his hands together. Kili opened one eye and regarded Bilbo with something that if the Hobbit didn’t know better could’ve been frustration and exasperation.

“Be quiet!” Fili groaned from his place by the fire and then subsided back into sleep making a low grumbly noise that sounded awfully like a purr. Kili let out a yelp as Fili’s sentiments were echoed by Pippin who kicked Kili’s back hard with his little foot.

Frodo was startled awake as Kili jolted from the kick and clawed his way out of the Dwarf’s embrace looking thoroughly disgruntled and tempestuous. At that moment Thorin made his way back into Bag End and into the room but before he could do anything Frodo came trotting towards him and held his arms up silently asking to be picked up.

Thorin came to a startled halt before acquiescing to Frodo’s unrelenting and unwavering plea. His hands wrapped themselves around the faunt’s slim waist and hefted him up until Frodo was cradled in the Dwarf King’s arms like a babe. Frodo hummed happily and leant in to listen with his delicately pointed ear to the steadying heartbeat of the Dwarf King.

Thorin let out a long exhale and made his way to the human-sized armchair where he sat down slowly and tension seeped out of him.

Bilbo idly wondered if faunts were magic. Every time one of the Dwarves seemed stressed or agitated the faunts would appear and calm even the most irritated of Dwarves with a mere look or touch and the Dwarves soon forgot all about whatever had bothered them. Obviously the four faunts currently staying in his smial were equally enraptured by the Dwarves and completely aware that they had every single Dwarf wrapped around their fingers.

Frodo could probably ask Fili and Kili to jump off a cliff and the pair would do it with no questions at all. Bilbo wasn’t sure that Fili and Kili were a great example however. The two young Dwarves would probably jump off a cliff just to see what was underneath.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Once Fili, Kili, Sam, Pippin, Merry, Frodo and Thorin, who had succumbed to the osmosis of the faunt sleeping against him and joined him in slumber, woke they had the brilliant idea of putting on a play that evening. They enlisted Thorin to be the narrator (Bilbo blushed brightly at the thought of Thorin narrating, his smooth voice rumbling through the halls of Bag End and delighting Bilbo’s ears), Nori to be an actor and Dori to make costumes for them and to be props-master.

There was a flurry of activity from the chosen Dwarves and faunts who began to create the story using one of Merry’s imagined tales. Bilbo spent the rest of the afternoon in his kitchen with Oin, Balin and Dwalin baking sweet treats and making tea and supper for everyone.

Balin had been very helpful in mixing together the biscuit dough and the cake mixture whilst Oin had decorated the biscuits and cakes with a keen eye for patterns. The result were some wonderfully crafted and decorated sweets that Bilbo knew would not last long.

Dwalin’s strength was surprisingly good for making meringues. The burly Dwarf had whisked the egg whites in half the time it normally took Bilbo and had carefully spooned the mixture onto the tin sheet Bilbo planned to cook them on with a delicacy that belied the power that his body held.

Now the meringues were in the oven and the four of them had turned their attention to tea. A soup was bubbling away in a large pot over the fire whilst Balin and Dwalin were battering some fish and covering them with breadcrumbs. Oin was chopping potatoes into chips and Bilbo was shelling peas into a bowl in his lap. Their chatter was nice and comfortable as they talked about some of the similarities between the Shire’s Winter Festival/Yule and the Dwarves own Winter Solstice celebrations.

Bilbo was prepared to feed an army with the amount of food they were preparing and indeed it felt like an army would be in his smial.

Not only was there going to the current occupants of Bag End: Bilbo and the faunts, Thorin, Fili, Kili, Balin, Dwalin, Oin, Bifur, Bofur, Nori, Dori and Ori but Gloin and Gimli would be coming for tea along with Gloin’s beloved wife, Elen, whom Bilbo was looking forward to finally meeting. Even more astounding was that Bombur and Sibreg were bringing their brood after tea.

Bilbo wasn’t sure Bag End would be able to fit everyone in the family room with all the current furniture in it and he made a mental note to ask Balin, Dwalin and Fili and Kili to take out some of the furniture and store it in one of the spare rooms down the west corridor. Bilbo also thought he had several large pillows and cushions which could be placed down on the floor for the younglings to sit on whilst the adults could use the chairs in the room and bring in some of the dining room chairs too.

As soon as tea was finished cooking there was a cacophony of noise and faunts and Dwarves alike rushed to bathrooms in order to wash hands and faces and reach the table. Some of the faunts couldn’t reach the table without extra height and so Pippin and Frodo found themselves seated on Fili and Kili’s laps whilst they ate from their plates.

Soup was served to all as a starter and bread rolls which Bilbo had warmed through in the oven were dipped into the creamy liquid. The fish and chips went down a treat (especially with Ori) and Bilbo watched with a beady eye to make sure every faunt ate all their peas.

After their main dish they all had a small serving of the richest, creamiest rice pudding Bilbo had ever tasted topped with each person’s choice. Some went for a simple dash of cinnamon, others piled blackberries and winter fruits onto theirs. Bilbo himself preferred his rice pudding with just a sprinkling of dark chocolate.

No sooner had they all done the washing up and reorganised the family room than their visitors arrived and Bilbo sighed again at a missed opportunity to give Bifur his present.

Bilbo found himself being given gently head taps from not only the Company but Gimli, Elen Gloin’s wife, Sibreg and Bombur’s offspring and a cuddle from Sibit who was delighted to see Frodo waiting eagerly for her.

They had all settled down in the family room when Bofur came staggering into the family room, his ever-present and bedraggled hat removed from his head and mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.

“I’m so tired.” He moaned and stretched his back so loud it cracked. The faunts wrinkled their noses in horror at the sound whilst Sibit giggled at her Uncle’s funny braids which were reminiscent of his hat.

“I never knew Bifur was such a stickler for details.” Ori said from behind him in a vaguely impressed voice. Bilbo clucked and pulled both of them over to seats which they gratefully sank into and accepted a cup of hot chocolate from Elen and Sibreg who had taken over playing ‘mother’.

“Where is Bifur?” Bilbo asked.

Bofur waved his free hand nonchalantly in the air.

“He’ll be here any second. He was just doing the finishing touches-”

 _“Don’t spoil it Bofur!”_ Bifur said in Ancient Khuzdul the guttural sound drowning out anything else Bofur might have said and Bofur grinned cheekily at his cousin.

The older Ur Dwarf wove his way carefully through the assembled faunts, Dwarfling and young Dwarves who had been relegated to the floor until he made it to the wide armchair where Bilbo had found himself squashed in next to Thorin (Bilbo had noticed how Fili and Kili had directed everyone to seats and reserved the small loveseat for Bofur, Bifur and Ori. Their justification was that Thorin was slim and Bilbo was small so they were the best fit for the human-sized armchair but Bilbo suspected that the boys were trying to play matchmaker).

 _“It is for you. A thank you for the tea and the talk.”_ Bifur said almost shyly and held out a plain wooden crate.

Thorin glanced at Bilbo’s bandaged hands which had halted halfway into the air reaching for the crate before reaching for it himself. Bilbo gave him a pleased smile and Thorin hoped that the fire hid any sign of a blush that might have made itself known on his cheeks above his beard.

Bilbo pried the lid off the crate and peeled back the straw which had been laid between the lid and its contents. Bilbo let out a gasp and covered his mouth with his hands in surprise.

“What is it Uncle Bilbo?” The faunts clamoured as they bounced on their cushions on the floor.

Bilbo reached into the crate with trembling hands and lifted out a little wooden figurine that looked like Frodo. It was a perfect likeness of the little faunt in a pale wood. Two tiny pieces of semi-precious stones had been put into the carved faunt’s eyes and they glinted almost the exact shade of blue as Frodo’s own eyes.

“Bifur these are wonderful.” Bilbo breathed as he gently lifted out carving after carving. Each faunt had been carved, Pippin and Merry had been carved together with their arms wrapped around each other and grinning widely as if they had just caused mischief and Sam was carved holding a sprig of mistletoe and a shovel in his other hand. All of the Company had been carved too. Each detail precise and correct. Some of them had details picked out in fine black painted lines which echoed of Ori’s fine touch but the majority of the work had been done with a chisel.

“Bif carved out most of them,” Bofur offered as the carvings were passed around the adults with the children leaning over laps to look at their likenesses and those of the Company. “He asked me to do the faces, tricky things faces and he didn’t want to mess them up if his hands shook or he forgot what he was doing. He didn’t though. Said you’d given him some tea that helped Bilbo and he wanted to thank you. Ori sketched the figures out for us and we used some of his original sketches of the Company to get the faces right.”

“They’re all wonderful.” Bilbo said happily as he reached the last of the figurines. The entire Company had been carved with Gimli, Elen, Sibit, Sibreg and the rest of Bombur’s brood too. What had delighted Bilbo even further was another pair of Hobbits had been tenderly carved.

Belladonna and Bungo Baggins had been carved out of the same piece of wood and were dancing with ice skates on their feet. Bilbo knew that Ori had snuck into his study and found Bilbo’s private sketchbooks to find this particular picture but the Hobbit didn’t feel his privacy had been invaded at all.

“Thank you so much!” Bilbo wrapped Bifur in a hug and the Dwarf squeezed back tightly.

“I have a small gift for you too, although it isn’t much when I look at these beautiful carvings!” Bilbo suddenly remembered the tea-box he had made up for Bifur and he scampered into his study to retrieve it.

When he returned he found his mantelpiece had been cleared of knick-knacks and the Company, Faunts and Family were now lined up along the shelf. Bilbo himself was centre of the mantelpiece with Thorin standing on one side and his parents the other.

“Perfect!” Bilbo announced and quickly wiped an errant tear that had escaped from his eye. He held out the small tea-box to Bifur and the Dwarf bowed in thanks before even opening it. When he did open it however Bifur’s eyes widened in delight and he let out a jubilant crow.

 _“Tea!”_ He shoved the tea box under Bofur’s nose and the Dwarf hastened to grab it before it fell to the floor while Bifur grabbed Bilbo and lifted him up in a tight hug.

When he finally managed to get Bifur to put him back down Bilbo produced a cup of tea, Winter Tea, from the tea pot which had been put on a table at the back of the room and held more hot chocolate, tea, biscuits and snacks for everyone to eat during the evening.

Bifur sat himself down next to his cousin and sniffed the new tea thoughtfully. Spices tickled his nose and there was sweet smell to the tea too. He couldn’t wait to try some of his new tea but he was sure Bilbo would let him keep it for when they eventually left the Shire and the Hobbit would make him tea from all his various interesting ingredients that sat on the top shelf of the kitchen.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

As the evening faded into night-time proper Bilbo found himself glancing back at Bifur and smiling at the normally distracted Dwarf’s concentration on the play being performed in front of the fire.

It was an absurd tale to be sure of four faunts who made their way through a magical wardrobe to a snow-covered land that was always winter and some of them met a mysterious half-goat man played by Fili and then a Beaver played by Fili whilst Frodo left his friends and met the evil White Wizard who had cursed the strange land (Nori was certainly enjoying his role as the White Wizard and was flicking the white cape Dori had fashioned for him with great aplomb). They went on a search for the Great Lion (Fili) whilst Frodo tried to tempt his friends to go to the White Wizard instead. There were a few battles and arguments and some of the faunts forgot their lines but were quickly rescued by Thorin who would interject and describe what was supposed to be happening as any decent narrator would.

And throughout all this Bilbo saw Bifur grinning at being able to keep up with the story and sipping his tea happily.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Petrichor- “The pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a dry spell.”  
> Elen is a Welsh form of the Greek name Helene which might mean torch


	8. Dori and the Finest Stitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last fully written chapter. I've begun working on the next and hope to have it up soon.

The Hobbit: A Dwarf is for Life not Just for Christmas

Chapter 8  
Dori and the Finest Stitches

* * *

 

Sometimes, in very quiet moments, Dori would wonder if he hadn’t been born in the wrong body. It wasn’t that he disliked his life, no indeed he would not change even one tiny part of it for anything in the world, but rather that he sometimes thought he might have been more comfortable as a female, a Dwarrow.

His own body sometimes felt too big, too hard and sharp for how his heart and mind felt. Other Dwarves said he was a comely Dwarf and that he was very beautiful but Dori wondered if he might have been more beautiful as a Dwarrow or maybe he would have been considered plain had he been born a female?

He also lacked the desire for the more masculine achievements of the Dwarvish people. Although he was a renowned warrior with a strength that was unparalleled by any Dwarf he had met so far, Dori did not like fighting. He did not enjoy the feeling of flesh splitting open beneath his knuckles or the moment of resistance when he swung his weapon into a living body.

Dori did not like the way blood stained the fabric of his clothes or how it clung to his beard and hair in a persistent fashion. He did not enjoy the raucous drinking of the male Dwarves in the Company or in general either. There were many things about male Dwarf life that Dori did not enjoy but he had muddled through until he had become proficient at pretending so that when he did pursue other less masculine pursuits no one said anything.

Dori liked the feeling of fabric beneath his calloused, worn fingers which had been damaged and re-shaped by handling weapons but could still make almost invisible stitches in silk. His fingers could stitch the finest thread into the sheerest material and never make a tear despite the rough abrasions on his fingertips.

He liked tea rather than ale or beer or even the moonshine that some of the more worldly and shady Dwarves that sometimes worked in professions similar to the circles Nori moved in drank. Dori loved tea and fine wine and fine food and his attention could be consumed by wine and food almost as much as Bombur. It was thread and fabrics however where Dori’s natural Mahal-given talents lay and once he had proven himself a Dwarf strong enough to knock down any who would mock him, he had set out to make something of himself in the fabric Merchant world.

When he was a Dwarfling Dori had wondered why he didn’t feel comfortable in his own body and now that their mother had long since left the world of the living, the only people who knew of Dori’s inner thoughts were Nori, Ori and Bilbo Baggins.

Nori hadn’t batted an eyelash when Dori had said that he thought he might have been born in the wrong body. Instead of kicking up a fuss Nori had simply gone out and stolen a young Dwarrow’s dress so that Dori could see if he felt more comfortable dressed up as a Dwarrow. It hadn’t but Dori had appreciated the help and even more so when years later Nori returned to the Blue Mountains after being absent for many years with stories of other males in Middle Earth and a few females who had the same feeling as Dori.

Nori never mocked or derided his older brother but accepted it all and allowed Dori to do little things for him that would be considered feminine. Things like hand-sewing a soft cloth roll for Nori’s lock picks and knives and embroidering it with soft and subtle designs that would normally be seen on the dresses of Dwarrows (Nori in fact rather liked the design as it reminded him of his older brother when he was forced away after committing one too many risky jobs and almost getting caught) or how when Nori was home Dori would force cup after cup of fruity or flowery tea onto Nori until the thief finally chose a favourite blend (which Dori always made certain to have a tin of in case his risk-taking younger brother stopped by unexpectedly).

Ori had grown up being all but raised by Dori so when his older brother had sat him down to talk about the birds and the bees, as it were, and Dori had stammered and spluttered over his own personal secret for far longer than it had taken to have “The Talk” Ori didn’t much mind. He loved his older brother and would have done so if Dori had suddenly had a donkey’s head and tail. Ori was also glad in a way that Dori didn’t mind feminine pursuits or less masculine behaviour as Ori too was happier in a calmer setting and Dori would always let his little brother sit in the kitchen or at the back of his shop in the Blue Mountains and scribble away from dusty manuscripts or rotting tomes.

Dori had been worried when Bilbo Baggins had joined the Company. Dori had not been oblivious to the wealth that Bilbo Baggins seemed to have even compared to his neighbours. The fabrics the golden-haired Hobbit had been wearing even whilst scampering around Bag End had been very fine indeed. Finer than those of the few Hobbits they had passed by on their way to Bag End at the beginning of their journey.

Over the course of the Quest Dori had found himself often sitting next to the fire and peering through the growing darkness at some item of clothing or other which needed mending and being the only Dwarf with a sewing box and more than passable skills Dori had taken on the task of keeping the Company clothed as best as possible.

Dwarves are pretty rough on their clothes never mind when they are facing off against Wargs, Orcs, Stone Giants, Goblins, Fire, Wind, Rain, flying on Giant Eagles, running from Giant Bears, being capture by Giant Spiders and so on and so forth. So, it was no surprise to Dori that the pile of clothing that had at the beginning of their journey only been a pair of socks and the odd shirt or two that had been torn began to be piles of multiple socks, trousers, shirts and coats being dumped next to Dori when they set up camp each night.

One night after sorting through the pile of garments and staring for a long moment in despair at the clothes that ranged from: unsalvageable to near unsalvageable to not too badly damaged to barely damaged to will only take a few minutes to repair and finally to he-really-didn’t-know-why-Kili-had-given-him-a-glove-with-a-minute-snag-on-it-and-expected-Dori-to-fix it, the Dwarf had sat with a garment in his hands and a threaded needle held between a shaking forefinger and thumb and all but wept at the amount of work he would have to do.

Then brilliant, bright, bold Bilbo Baggins had marched over and dropped himself unceremoniously on the ground next to Dori and the pile of clothes that ranged from a few minutes to repair to barely damaged and picked up a shirt with a small tear in it.

“Do you have another needle and thread?” Bilbo had asked and waited expectantly for Dori to move. The Dwarf had handed over the small packet of needles in varying sizes and a spool of thread. Unfortunately not all his thread or needles had made it through the journey and so Bilbo was left with a slightly bent needle and a spool of bright pink thread which Bilbo determined was the same colour as the foxgloves in his garden.

Dori had watched as Bilbo made neat and tidy stitches along the tear and slowly returned the shirt (belonging to Thorin) back to a wearable state (and Thorin had looked mightily unimpressed with the bright pink thread dissecting his dark blue shirt like a sewn up wound. That was until Dori had informed him that Bilbo had worked with Dori to fix all the clothing in one night and that all Bilbo’s work had been done with the pink thread. Thorin had looked slightly happier with his shirt after this announcement).

After that Bilbo would often join Dori by the fire and help darn socks or sew up tears or cuts in the Company’s clothing. When they had reached Lake Town Bilbo had even taken a moment to show Dori a unique type of stitching that Bilbo had only seen so far done in the Shire.

Of course Dori had never gotten the chance to tell Bilbo his secret but the Dwarf liked to think that Bilbo would have understood and accepted Dori and his secret. Dori would also have liked to have better repaid Bilbo for his help with the clothes during the journey and for the tea and wine discussions but during the whole Gold Sickness Dilemma, Dori had not been himself. He also felt very guilty that Bilbo had been sent away from Erebor with only his ragged trousers from the beginning of their journey, the mithril shirt and the over-sized child’s coat that the Hobbit had been given by Bard’s daughter.

It wasn’t until Bilbo came haring through Bag End two days before Yule Day clamouring about the faunts having ruined his best jacket (his second best jacket had been the red one he wore on the Quest which Dori thought had been lost in the dungeons of Thranduil’s Kingdom) and Bilbo would have to show up at the Feast of Fools looking like a ragamuffin and Lobelia would use it as a chance to rain scorn upon the patriarch of the Baggins line, that Dori would finally, finally have his chance to thank Bilbo and make some small attempt at bridging the gap that had grown between the Hobbit and himself.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

It was quite a sight to see Bilbo Baggins tearing through Bag End after the four fauntlings who had been playing in the elder Hobbit’s bedroom. Surprisingly it was chubby little Samwise who was taking the lead in their flight from the enraged Master of Bag End. Sam’s round cheeks were red and puffed as he panted round corners and leapt over cushions in the sitting room.

He was closely followed by Frodo who was giggling and squealing at his Uncle’s colourful shouts (that were of course age appropriate even if Bilbo would have liked to throw in a swear word or ten). Merry and Pippin were taking up the rear with Bilbo’s hand every now and again grazing the golden-brown curls on Pippin’s head but never managing to quite grab hold of the slippery, sly faunts.

“Frodo Baggins! How dare you drag my best coat through the snow and mud!” Bilbo roared and the faunts squealed.

Said coat was in fact Bilbo’s best coat. His second best one had been the red velvet garment he had rather daftly worn on the quest (it hadn’t survived the may trials the Company had faced and Bilbo rather suspected it was decomposing at the bottom of the Lake along with Smaug).

Bilbo’s very best coat was a beautiful forest green. It had been his father’s and so the style was slightly dated but it was a garment that worked no matter the changing fashion. The buttons on the green coat were not brass but pearl. Purchased from the elves in Rivendell Bilbo knew that Belladonna had bartered stories and some of her secret bramble jam to purchase the pearl buttons which had been carved into flowers, and after that she had spent hours painstakingly sewing the buttons to the coat. Sewing had not been Belladonna’s forte, Bungo was the one who made repairs to clothing in their household, but it had been Belladonna’s first wedding anniversary gift to Bungo and so it was precious because of the pain and care she had taken into making sure the buttons wouldn’t fall off and that her beloved Bungo would be warm and comfortable.

Bilbo was furious that the faunts had decided his coat made a wonderful Ranger’s cloak and that they had dragged and trailed it through the muddy snow. The velvet was heavy with water and Bilbo could see that through his mad chase through the smial there was a trail of murky brown liquid pooling on his floor.

One of the buttons too had been chipped and another was barely hanging on because of the damage the faunts had done.

Finally, Bilbo had, had enough. He stopped in the middle of the sitting room and pulled the coat to his chest and clutched the fabric desperately. He rolled his lips together, desperately trying not to cry.

The faunts had come to the realisation that Bilbo was no longer chasing them and they crept back to see where their Uncle was. Their hearts all sank into their stomachs when they saw Bilbo looking desolate as he stroked the shoulder of the forest green coat.

The brother’s Ri had been the ones to stay in the smial despite the sunshine pouring down and beginning to melt the heavy blanket of snow. Dori had been eager to catch up on some of his embroidery and mend some of the clothes that had accumulated over their travels. Ori was busy sketching and reading through Bilbo’s library and Nori had been skulking around through the night and he had been trying to sleep and gather some energy in relative peace.

All three brothers however had found the rambunctious noise distracting and they found themselves standing in a line behind the four faunts who looked as if they were all going to burst into tears at any second.

“Uh-oh.” Nori said slowly before fleeing into the hallway and soon the sound of the front door opening reverberated through the smial.

Ori wrung his hands nervously and glanced between the faunts whose faces were turning red and tears flowed down their cheeks and Bilbo whose face was buried in the coat and his shoulders were shaking.

Dori assessed the situation and years of raising Ori gave him an instinctive knowledge of how to deal with the situation.

“Ori, take the four rascals into their bedroom. Let them cry it out and then when they’re done come and get me. We need to have a talk about what they did wrong.”

Ori nodded and was almost tempted to stand to attention but resisted. Instead he shepherded the weeping and wailing faunts out of the sitting room and down the hallways to their bedroom.

The moment the faunt’s door shut, silence fell over the smial. Dori watched as Bilbo continued to shake and rub his face into the soggy velvet. 

“Come now Bilbo. No use crying over spilt milk. We’ll sit and have a nice cup of tea and a biscuit or two and then see what we can do about salvaging this coat. Come along then.”

Dori wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and led the hobbit into the kitchen. Bilbo went along quite calmly. The Dwarf gently steered Bilbo until he was sat down on the smooth, polished wooden bench that ran along the side of the great oak table in the kitchen. The bench and table both had a sheen to them that was not the creation of polish and elbow grease but decades of use and love.

Dori couldn’t even imagine how many meals had been prepared on the table, how many cups of tea had been drunk whilst sitting on the bench or how many tears had been soothed away after dripping onto the grains of wood.

Bilbo kept his face buried in the soggy velvet coat whilst Dori bustled around the kitchen. It had been many years since Bilbo sat in that exact spot after an emotional outburst and had someone else care for him. Not since his parents in fact. The moment they were gone Bilbo had been alone until Gandalf came knocking.

Dori hummed softly as his gathered up a teapot and cups with saucers, buttered some bread made fresh that morning and laid some biscuits down on a plate with scalloped edges. The kettle whistled softly as it boiled over the fire and Dori carefully poured the hot water over the tea leaves in the large brown teapot.

He sat down opposite Bilbo and quite matter of face began sorting out their elevenses (for indeed it was that time of day).

“A nice cup of chamomile.” He placed the cup in the saucer down in front of Bilbo and then turned his attention to the jars of jam.

“Now would you like blackberry, raspberry, strawberry or apple and blackberry jam on your bread?”

“Afjighilepff.” Bilbo mumbled into the coat.

Dori raised one elegant eyebrow.

“I’m afraid Bilbo Baggins I can’t understand a word your saying with your face buried in your coat. Now, on our journey you were quite adamant that you were to be treated like an adult but now you are acting like a faunt or even worse like Fili and Kili. So take your face out of that coat and speak to me properly.”

Dori never raised his voice nor was there any bite in his tone. Instead he treated Bilbo just like he would an errant child and he watched as Bilbo sulkily put the coat to one side and sat up properly.

“Apple and blackberry jam please.”

Dori deftly spread an even layer of the homemade jam over the buttered bread and handed it across to Bilbo.

The Hobbit took a large bite and hummed appreciatively at the taste. His shoulders relaxed almost immediately and Dori hid a smile in his teacup.

The pair sat in silence for a while munching on biscuits and jammy bread and sipping at the soothing chamomile tea. Finally Dori could tell that Bilbo was ready to try and salvage the coat.

“Pass over the coat?”

Dori inspected it carefully. The coat was ripped slightly in a few places and some of the embroidery had been torn and pulled from the neat stitches. Several of the pearl buttons were hanging on by a thread quite literally.

 “Well, if you were intending to wear this tomorrow I’m afraid it simply will not be dry enough once we have washed it.” Dori said matter of factly. Bilbo sighed and nodded.

“I thought that myself. I suppose I shall just have to wear one of my everyday coats. I haven’t enough time to try and find one from the local tailor that would be more appropriate for the Feast. I was just hoping, well, that I might…”

The Hobbit trailed off and his cheeks flushed a bright red. Dori sipped his tea and waited patiently, it was the least he could do for his friend after all.

“The last time I was at the Feast of Fools Lobelia, my cousin’s wife, well, she tried to humiliate me, called attention to my new coat and said it was unseemly for a middle-aged, unwed Hobbit.”

Dori scoffed. “What was the design of the coat?”

Bilbo grinned slightly sheepishly. “It was the red coat I wore when I came on the Quest…”

Dori remembered that coat well. The Dwarf could not think of anything about the coat that could be considered scandalous. It was of a good quality fabric, not like the sheer fabrics Nori had brought back from the East once (Dori had never been able to make anything with it as the fabric would’ve exposed far too much skin for the Dwarves to be comfortable seeing or baring), the colour was an acceptable deep red and the cut was sensible yet carefully tailored to Bilbo’s form.

“Any particular reason why your coat could be scandalous?”

“It was a combination of the colour and the buttons. The red colour was similar to a flower we Hobbits use to profess romantic or lustful intentions; the buttons were supposed to look like Delphiniums which would indicate levity, fun and joy but instead looked like Coriander flowers which actually said I was looking for company for the evening.”

“Sounds like she was making a mountain out of a mole hill,” Dori snorted. “Whatever did you do to the buttons? The buttons when we met were brass, plain brass which did not suit the coat at all as you well know Bilbo.”

Bilbo fiddled with his teacup.

It was at this moment that Dori truly realised how vulnerable Bilbo had been in the Shire. He had no family or kin to support or defend him and nobody to share his troubles with. Dori hadn’t missed how Bilbo enjoyed helping the Company members nor how the Hobbit had offered a kind word, a quiet presence, a pinch of pipe weed, some soothing herbal teas or even a caress or hug of some sort. Yet in Bilbo’s grand smial with its empty rooms there was none of that kindness to be given back.

Dori made up his mind that instant to provide Bilbo with the best coat he could. The Dwarf had been working on something over the last few months, a coat for a certain Hobbit that Dori had intended to give as a thank you for being so understanding about Dori’s nature and as an apology for his behaviour whilst consumed by Gold Sickness.

Now however, Bilbo’s honour amongst his fellow Hobbits lay at stake and Dori would be Mahal damned if anyone dared say a disparaging word about Bilbo Baggins’ clothing at the Feast of Fools tomorrow evening.

Dori stood up abruptly from the table and stomped around the table. Bilbo looked up at him in surprise.

“Come with me Bilbo.” Dori grabbed Bilbo’s lower arm gently, being mindful of the Hobbit’s still bandaged hands, and led the unresisting Hobbit through his own smial to the room Dori was sharing with Ori.

“We will make you the envy of Dwarf and Hobbit alike!”

Bilbo glanced at Dori’s face. The stylish Dwarf had a look of determination and resolve, and Bilbo found himself feeling both excited and terrified.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

A few hours later, when the sun had set and the Company had returned to Bag End to prepare for the Feast of Fools, Bag End was no longer full of undisciplined chaos but was a cacophony of noise as every male was getting ready and dressed for the Feast.

The faunts were being wrangled, bribed and wrestled into their finery by any of the Dwarves who had paused in their own preparations. Bilbo had forgiven them when he and Dori had returned from the Dwarf’s stall at the market.

Bilbo had always been impressed with Dori’s skill with needle and thread and with the Dwarf’s appreciation and eye for the finer things in life. His stall was another reflection of this. Coats, trousers, waistcoats, shirts, skirts and dresses were artfully displayed on mannequins, hung from the canopy or for the dwarfling and fauntling sized items laid on the tables with sprigs of plants interspersed between them.

Dori was not manning the stall, another Dwarf was. Bilbo found himself being given a short but well-meant bow as the Dwarf acknowledged their presence but maintained their focus on serving the Hobbit mother who was trying to hold onto her child and see if a mulled wine-coloured shirt would fit the struggling faunt.

“That’s my apprentice, Iodi. She’s been managing my businesses for me for many years.” Dori said as he led Bilbo towards the wagon that was parked a small distance from the stall.

“She’s almost finished her apprenticeship and I’m hoping that once we return to Erebor I can offer her a partnership with me. She is an excellent trader. I once saw her haggle the price of tea with the farmer who we were trying to set up a rapport with for three hours solid. When we came away from that meeting, we were getting the tea leaves for a third of the price I had been willing to pay, and we had agreed to advertise the farmer’s other crop at our shop and sell some on with little to no extra cost.”

Dori had pulled down the small steps from where they had been tied up against the door of the wooden wagon and ascended them with a covered lamp held aloft in one hand whilst he spoke to Bilbo. The Hobbit had slowly trod up the worn wooden steps and followed Dori into the wagon where he stood in the doorway with his mouth slightly open.

Fabrics and clothing in various states of completeness hung or were draped everywhere. A table was positioned under the only window and there was a small space between two sets of drawers that fitted perfectly beneath it for a pair of Dwarf legs. Tape measures, buttons, beads, jewels, threads and scraps of fabrics were arranged in the drawers and one drawer was entirely dedicated to scissors whilst another held row upon row of gleaming needles of different lengths and thicknesses. There were even a few made of wood and these had been polished to a shine by use.

Bilbo recalled what they had been previously discussing and called out to Dori who was rummaging around in the very rear of the wagon, beyond where a piece of plain white fabric hung like a partition.

“What was the other crop? The other produce you received from the farmer along with the tea leaves?”

Dori poked his head around the white fabric and Bilbo saw that the curtained off area held a small bed with shelves and nooks built into the frame of the wagon. Each nook or shelf held books or little items and Bilbo saw a pile of neatly folded clothes at the end of the bed. The clothes were not Dori’s and so Bilbo surmised that that was where Iodi slept.

“Wine. It was wine. If I’m being entirely honest with you, my dear Bilbo, the wine was better than the tea leaves but once I added the tea leaves into my own special blend, they were much improved.” Dori paused and frowned thoughtfully. “I might have hidden a bottle of that wine here too.”

The Dwarf returned to his rummaging and the white curtain fell back down. Bilbo waited patiently and gently tightened the knot on the bandages still on his hands. They were a bit stained from clutching his father’s muddy and sodden jacket, but he wasn’t too concerned. Oin had been applying honey and a mixture of herbs to Bilbo’s skin every night and morning and the burns were looking much better. Oin was hopeful that Bilbo would be able to take the bandages off for a time this evening and Bilbo hoped that it would be for long enough for the actual feast. Trying to use cutlery with bandaged fingers and hands was a trying affair for a Hobbit who was regaining his appetite.

“Gamut!” Dori suddenly shouted out and flung back the white curtain.

Bilbo jumped slightly and then looked at the package carefully tucked under Dori’s arm and the bottle held in his hand.

“I need to gather a few more provisions and then we will return to Bag End. You will be ready for the Feast tonight Bilbo and you will catch the eye of every Dwarf if not all the Hobbits. I’m afraid I know little of what Hobbits find appealing in their clothing but I do not imagine our tastes are that dissimilar.”

“Dori I can’t-“ Bilbo began but was hushed by a fond look and Dori’s free hand held out towards him.

“You were my friend, Bilbo Baggins, and I was not myself for a time. I have not forgotten the kindnesses you showed myself and my brothers and it has pressed on me for a long time how I treated you under the thrall of Gold Sickness and how when we parted ways, I could not offer you more than patchily mended coat of Men. This is no inconvenience to me. In fact, it has been a guilty pleasure of mine to make clothes for someone I know will appreciate them. It is also my way of conveying that I wish to ask for your forgiveness…”

Bilbo swallowed back the lump of emotions that had swelled up in his throat and grasped Dori’s forearm. The moment he did so, Dori clasped his own hand around Bilbo’s forearm and pulled the Hobbit in for a gentle head touch.

For a moment the pair stood, their breath gently mingling as all the hurts that had been inflicted, intentional and unintentional, were remembered and forgiven.

“I could not ask for a better friend.” Bilbo whispered as they stood upright once more.

“You could and could probably find one. But I will be selfish for now and keep you as my friend.” Dori said with a smile.

They both smiled each other, Bilbo shaking his head slightly at the loyalty and love that he was receiving from his long missed friends, before Dori returned to gathering items into a basket. Needles, embroidery thread, a small box of jewels, buttons and some fine scissors were neatly loaded into the basket and Bilbo was handed the wine and lamp.

Together they made their way out of the wagon and back up to Bag End.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Dori unveiled the clothes he had been making for Bilbo when they returned to Bag End. They had made their way through the quiet smial to Bilbo’s bedroom. On the way Dori had scooped up two small wine glasses and added them to his basket. The bottle had been uncorked and left to breath whilst they unwrapped the clothing.

Dori laid out each garment carefully on the bed and watched from the corner of his eye as Bilbo’s face went through a variety of emotions.

The clothing had obviously been made with a Hobbit (him, mad old Baggins) in mind. Light brown trousers, made to the usual Hobbit length and of a soft brown fabric were paired with a shirt that was not white, but also not cream in colour but rather somewhere in between. These were both made of a simply woven but incredibly fine and soft fabric and Bilbo knew they would feel splendid against his skin.

The garments that truly took his breath away however were the waistcoat and the coat. The waistcoat was a deep red colour, a shade or two darker than Bilbo’s original coat on the quest and was embroidered with incredibly fine silver cobwebs. The cobwebs were almost invisible until the fabric was moved and the tiny stitches caught the light. The front two panels of the waistcoat were embroidered with these almost life like cobwebs and the button holes had been edged with the same silver thread whilst the buttons were simple red gems that almost faded into the waistcoat colour.

The coat was another masterpiece. A far darker colour than Bilbo would ever have chosen for himself, but he knew that Dori’s eye would not lead him into humiliation. A dark blue, so dark it would appear black in certain lights. Silver embroidery paired with a deep red trailed up from the hems of the coat, along the edges towards the collar. Geometric patterns that Bilbo had seen in the halls of Erebor had been artfully mixed with tendrils of flowers, vines and leaves. Tiny gems and jewels had been stitched into the centres of the flowers and they glinted mischievously in the light. Unlike most hobbit coats the collar did not lie flat against the nape of one’s neck but stood up against the column of the neck and Bilbo could see that the collar was embroidered with oak leaves and six stars were interspersed within them, the largest falling at the centre of the back of the collar.

The coat was also longer than most Hobbit coats and would fall to just above Bilbo’s knees. This had required it to be split at the back and the split tails were embroidered up towards the centre of the back. Besom pockets were covered with ornately embroidered flaps in the same vines and geometric patterns and the cuffs of the sleeves were similarly embroidered.

One of the sleeves was partially finished and Bilbo could see that whilst button holes had been made on one side, the buttons for doing up the coat were absent.

Bilbo licked his lips and held out a trembling hand as if wanting to touch the fabrics but not daring to.

“Dori, words fail me.”

The Dwarf smiled happily, pleased that his work was being so admired. He had poured the wine into the glasses whilst Bilbo had been admiring the clothing and handed one to Bilbo. They sipped on it and both made throaty noises of appreciation at the fullness of the red wine and the flowery bouquet it had.

“Just the one glass I’m afraid. It is rather potent, and another would render myself useless.” Dori warned, and they stood for a moment in mutual silence enjoying the wine and the quietness of the smial.

“Well, first we need to try them on.” Dori announced and placed his wine glass down on Bilbo’s dresser. “As we’ve already established you have lost weight from not eating and I made these garments with your initial weight from the beginning of the quest in mind. I think we can tighten your shirt and trousers with a few easy tucks that can be unstitched when you’ve gained weight. The waistcoat will simply require a length of fabric sewn onto it with a buckle to tighten it.”

Dori frowned slightly. “The coat I cannot tighten or make more form fitting, but I do not think it will be so noticeable.”

He rummaged around in his basket and then pulled out a fabric that Bilbo was surprised to see had been buried at the bottom. Dori unfolded it and Bilbo could see it was the same dark red shade was the waistcoat.

“Actually, I can stitch this inside the coat. That way your coat will be slightly padded, and you will still match!” Dori grinned triumphantly and pulled a chair over towards the fire and began selecting needles and thread.

“Try on the shirt and trousers for me whilst I finish off the buttons on your coat. Then I can make the alterations to your trousers, shirt and waistcoat and I can finish off the embroidery on the coat sleeve once the rest is done. We will be finished in plenty of time for the Feast.”

Bilbo shook his head and drank the last few sips of the wine before hurrying to obey the Dwarf. Far be it from the Hobbit to get in the way of the Master’s vision and plan.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

The rest of the day had passed quietly and simply. Ori had taken the fauntlings out to the market, well wrapped up and booted of course. All four had been subdued as they knew they had upset their beloved Uncle. Ori had brought them down to the market so that they could spend some time with the other Dwarflings.

Sam had quickly stopped at Oin’s stall where the Dwarf sold his ‘ointments’ and other herbs and spices for medicines and for cooking. The faunt had been more than happy to help Oin with preparing some of the dried herbs and spices and putting them into paper packets and labelling them ready for purchase.

Merry and Pippin had joined Bofur and Bifur and begun to learn some of how to whittle and carve. Ori had a sketch of Bifur with Pippin sat in his lap and the Dwarf’s large hands wrapped around the tiny faunts, carefully guiding the blades and tools. Merry and Bofur had managed to strike up an audience as they peddled the toys and other wooden objects and Merry had becoming quite good at drumming up interest.

Frodo and Ori had remained apart from all the hustle and bustle. The dark haired faunt looking pale and miserable the whole time. Not even Sibit’s sudden appearance and sharing of the chocolate biscuits that Bombur had made cheered the faunt up much.

Ori had almost considered taking Frodo back to Bag End when Thorin had appeared.

“What is wrong little one?” The Dwarf King had crouched down, uncaring of his fur lined coat landing in the snow.

“I upset Uncle Bilbo.” Frodo whispered miserably.

“Ah. I have done that a time or two.” Thorin commiserated. “I assume you are giving your Uncle some time to himself?”

Frodo nodded and wiped his cheek with his gloved hand as a single tear slipped out.

“Ah. Well.” Thorin paused for a moment. “Would you like to accompany me kurkarukê? I must visit my people who are spread throughout Hobbiton and check they are all well and behaving for their hosts.”

Frodo held out his arms to the Dwarf King and the moment Thorin lifted him into his arms and cradled the faunt to his chest, Frodo buried his face in the Dwarf King’s hair.

Thorin grimaced slightly as the sounds of snuffles and cold tears dripped onto his skin. He would definitely have to wash his hair before the Feast. Fauntling snot was a tenacious thing he had found, and it would not be kingly to appear before their hosts and his people with his hair sticky and dull with fauntling bogeys.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bag End had been busy from the setting of the sun. The Dwarves had returned in dribs and drabs and set about preparing themselves for the Feast of Fools. All had taken a bath, using two of Bag End’s bathrooms with the hot water being piped straight to their bath whilst others had used some of the metal tubs that were stored deep within the hill, boiling water on the fires in the kitchen and then filling the tubs in one of the Dwarves bedrooms in front of the fire. They were not too filthy and so siblings agreed to share bathwater to save time and firewood.

The faunts had all bathed with a Dwarf each and were most interested in the tattoos and scars adorning every Dwarf (but that is something for another time perhaps).

They had all had small snacks and meals throughout the day, but none had wanted to spoil their appetite for the Feast of Fools. Every Hobbit family, wealthy or poor, would bring some food item to the Feast of Fools and there would be more than enough food for the Hobbits in the Shire and their Dwarven guests. The Feast itself would be held in the field surrounding the Three Farthing Stone. Tents had been erected there and hot braziers usually stored in Took Hall had been placed in and around the tents. A large bonfire would be lit in the centre and there would be music, food, drinking and dancing well into the early hours of the morning.

The Company and the four faunts, once finally dressed and ready stood in the hallway by the front door, waiting for Bilbo and Dori. None had seen them except for when Bombur (who had stopped by with his family on the way to the Three Farthing Stone) had carried a plate of cheeses, savoury biscuits and pickled vegetables to Bilbo’s bedroom. Bilbo’s master bedroom had an adjoining bathroom and so the Dwarf and Hobbit who had sequestered themselves did not even have to leave for toiletry requirements.

“There’s a whole trail of Hobbits heading down and out of Hobbiton.” Dwalin growled as he peered out a window. They could all see lights bobbing across Hobbiton as groups of Hobbits and Dwarves made their way. From further afield there were clusters of lights as Hobbits came from all over the Shire.

“We’re going to be laaatttee!” Pippin whined and tugged at his hat and scarf. As usual it had been a challenge getting the youngest Hobbit into his clothing and none of the Dwarves had any doubts that Pippin would be removing winter clothing as soon as possible.

“Peregrine Took!” Bilbo’s voice rang out and everyone spun to look at the Hobbit who had finally emerged from his room. “Do not even think of taking your hat and scarf off. What would your mother say if I delivered her to you tonight of all nights with cold ears?!”

There was a stunned silence from all in the hall and Bilbo found himself the recipient of many astonished and admiring stares. He blushed and shifted nervously, his soft winter boots scraping the floor noisily.

“Mister Boggins!” Kili crowed. “You look fantastic!”

“Aye, you do. Dwarvish patterns suit you.” Fili agreed with his brother and winked at Bilbo.

“Nothing to add Uncle?” Kili and Fili turned their attention to Thorin who was standing behind them his mouth slightly open.

Thorin shook himself and then stepped forward.

“You do look wonderful Bilbo.” The Dwarf King murmured softly.

Bilbo stared up into Thorin’s eyes and felt his blushing cheeks redden further.

“Th-thank you Thorin. You look, er, you look very handsome yourself.” Bilbo gestured at Thorin’s own clothing. He was garbed in slightly finer garments than his usual wear, but it was still in his usual blacks and blues. His only seeming concession to the festivities was the fur lining and collar of his coat were a soft, downy white fur. The Dwarf King even had on a simple crown, one that was clearly Dwarven in make but had echoes of his title Oakenshield as oak leaves decorated the otherwise angled metal.

“You have truly outdone yourself Dori,” Balin called out to the Dwarf who was stood behind Bilbo and smiling with a deep satisfaction. “You have clothed all of us finely but none more so than our King and Burglar.”

The Company cheered and clapped and Dori, slightly flustered, bowed deeply.

“Well. Thank you, my friends.” Dori said quietly once the clapping and cheering had died down. “Now, we should leave and show off the splendour I have worked so hard to create. And I’ll thank none of you to leave your garments lying around on tables or in the snow!”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dictionary:  
> Gamut – wonderful, good  
> Kurkarukê – my tiny raven
> 
> Dori's feelings are inspired by a friend of mine who's transgender. The sensation of being born in the wrong body is how he felt before he transitioned so the concept of Dori feeling the same way just came to me. I had no idea until I started writing that my version of Dori felt that way. He just took over a bit after that.  
> If I've offended anyone I apologise and this is just my interpretation based on what my friend has discussed with me.
> 
> Finally, Bilbo's outfit is inspired by a court coat and waistcoat circa 1800s made in England or Scotland which is part of the Victoria and Albert collection: http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O137623/court-coat-and-unknown/


	9. Fili and the Furore of the Feast of Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after the Feast of Fools. Fili finds himself in a precarious situation or three...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren’t you all lucky, a second update in two days! This chapter is my attempt at humour. I will admit it's not my strongest area of writing. This chapter also ran away from me a little and I found it deviated slightly from what I intended but shouldn't affect the overall story. 
> 
> Also, the hair care mentioned later on is just some ideas I found about old ways of washing hair before the creation of shampoo, it may or may not work I have no idea, but it seemed like something Bilbo and the peoples of Middle Earth might do.

* * *

Fili was never sure if he was doing the right thing. He supposed he wasn’t alone in feeling this way, Kili said he felt that way sometimes, but it felt worse sometimes because the decisions he made affected more than just himself and his brother. They impacted on his people and the way other Peoples of Middle Earth perceived them.

Fili tried to live up to his Uncle. He adored and worshipped his Uncle Thorin, even after the whole nasty Gold Sickness business. However, his mother was his true inspiration and he could remember all those wise nuggets of wisdom that she told him in the quiet moments when she wasn’t busy preventing their people from starving when they were settling in the Blue Mountains or chasing Kili because his younger brother had done something naughty.

He remembered sitting on a stool in front of the fire, his mother running a comb through his golden hair, teasing out the knots and tangles and then brushing it with a boar bristle brush until it was smooth and shiny. She would sing songs to him, the song of the Lonely Mountain amongst many others, and then her tired hands would braid his hair and she would teach him things that her mother and her father taught her.

Fili was not like Kili. People did not warm up to him as quickly. That was probably because Fili was less quick to smile, less quick to forgive, less quick to judge. Fili liked to watch, listen and wait before making a decision and then once made he would keep to it.

So, it was with Bilbo Baggins when they first met.

Fili would not like to admit but he had been jealous as they tramped through the Shire. Jealous of the Hobbits working their fields, chasing their many children, caring for their strange little homes in the rolling hills of the Shire. He had burned with an ache for the love and warmth mothers and fathers openly showed their children.

His own mother could only truly show her love for him in private. At all other times eyes lay upon them, judging, watching for any sign of weakness in Durin’s line. Something to be bent and used against the royal family. He could remember the first time someone kidnapped him and cut off a small handful of his golden hair and sent it back to his mother.

When Nori, the thief, had finally found him Fili had been holding back tears and had bitten his lip so hard that it was bleeding. Nori had cut his bindings and picked up the Dwarfling prince, carrying Fili through the path of destruction the red-headed Dwarf had made in order to reach the prince. Fili had buried his face in Nori’s neck and let his tears fall into the other’s skin.

When they reached Fili’s home however Nori was forced to put Fili down, and Fili watched as Nori slipped back into the shadows and his mother strode forward. She knelt down and inspected Fili’s cuts and scrapes and the shorn part of his hair where the strands had been hacked and cut off with no care for the Dwarfling’s wellbeing. His mother had not been able to embrace him or care for him then and there. The nobles of the Blue Mountains had all gathered in their home and Uncle Thorin had been there too. Too many eyes watching and judging.

Fili had been taken out of the room by his Aunt Vigdis (Uncle Gloin’s wife) to his bedroom and there his pregnant aunt had trimmed his hair and tended to his scrapes and his bitten lip and she had crooned and cuddled him along with a weeping Kili until his mother and Thorin returned.

It was only once the family unit was alone once more that his mother embraced him and wept and cared for him. Fili understood, even at that young age, why his mother couldn’t show how much his kidnapping had upset her. It still hurt though.  

Walking through the Shire and seeing love and affection bestowed so easily and freely by Hobbit parents on their children had brought back all that seemingly forgotten hurt.

Bilbo’s smial had been different however. Fili had cast an eye around once he had slipped away from his brother who had been pestering their Hobbit host. Fili could see that there had been lots of love in the home once. Treasured items, some of no monetary value, were displayed safely. Portraits of two hobbits Fili guessed were Bilbo’s parents hung in pride of place over the mantelpiece.

There was a sense however that there was little love in this smial now however. There were none of those little touches that showed someone cared. Only the rooms which were used frequently were particularly well kept, any and all dust removed from the surfaces and the windows that faced out were smudge free, and only rooms used frequently contained fires. The rest of the smial was tidy and clean to be sure, but there were none of the signs of multiple inhabitants.

Fili had wondered how someone like Mr Bilbo Baggins, who hadn’t ever lost his home and didn’t have anyone who would miss him or anyone to come back to, would fair on their quest. Or if Bilbo Baggins would even come with them.

Fili had done as he usually had once Bilbo joined their quest. He watched, listened and waited. He saw how Bilbo tried to be of assistance to everyone. He listened to Bilbo talking with shy, nervous Ori about the customs and cultures of Hobbits and teaching Bofur some of the drinking songs and other less bawdy songs of the Shire. He saw Bilbo helping Dori tend to the clothing that needed mending and helping Bombur make their rations as palatable as possible.

He had also seen how Bilbo would lean in to an arm around his shoulder, how he would allow the ruffling of his curly hair from Kili, even though they had long since established that despite his fewer years he was more mature than both Princes. How he would sag down wherever he was sat when they were gathered around the fire in the evening and tilt towards whoever was sat nearest to him as if seeking to lean against someone’s side in companionship.

Fili also saw how Bilbo, after the first few nights travel, shivered against the cold. They had stopped off in Bree and Gloin and Balin had made sure the Hobbit had suitable items for the weather they would undoubtedly face on their journey. Bilbo had purchased a waxed cloak to keep the rain off and also a new blanket, one that was woven from a thicker, fluffier wool. It seemed however that the fires that burned in Dwarves did not burn so in Hobbits for every night Bilbo would shiver on his bedroll and bury his face in his woollen blanket.

Eventually Fili had decided Bilbo was worth trusting and befriending and that had led to the Dwarf Prince inviting Bilbo to bed down between him and Kili. He recalled the embarrassed and shy expression on Bilbo’s face especially once it was made clear Fili expected nothing more than lying beside each other whilst they slept.

More than once on their journey Fili had woken to find Bilbo snuggled up against his side with Kili curled up around the Hobbit, his arm flung over Bilbo’s side and over his brother’s. They always made a little cuddle pile and after the events in the Misty Mountains sleeping in their pile had been more than welcome.

Fili had even allowed Bilbo to assist with his hair. Kili’s hair was more troublesome than Fili’s, it would knot and tangle more, but it was fairly easy to comb out and detangle his younger brother’s hair. Fili’s on the other hand was thick and resisted all efforts to untangle it. It took patience and care to look after his hair and Fili could not always reach every tangle.

Bilbo had tentatively offered his assistance when they were at Beorn’s home. The Hobbit had helped arrange their bedrolls and blankets before noticing Fili sitting in a pile of straw and undoing his braids and trying to pull his comb through the frazzled hair. Bilbo had watched biting his lip nervously for several long minutes before stepping forward quietly.

“I could assist you if you want Fili? I know Dwarves have particular customs about their hair, but you seem to be struggling and I don’t think it’s good for your pulled muscle to strain so.”

Fili had glanced at his arm which was indeed aching. He had wrenched it whilst fighting off the orcs and wargs and the contorted positions he was having to make in order to try and comb his hair had not been helping soothe the pain.

“It is acceptable for close friends to help with our hair. You can help me comb and brush it if you would be so kind Bilbo, but I will ask Kili or Thorin to braid my hair again if I cannot.” Fili had smiled and held out his comb and brush, the same comb and brush that his mother used.

And so, the Hobbit had found a stool and Fili had leaned back against the Hobbit’s legs and the pair had sat for hours as Bilbo slowly and patiently eased the knots and tangles out, section by section, pausing and flexing his hands as he needed.

The slow repetitive actions of the comb and the way Bilbo had bunched the hair in one hand so as not to pull on Fili’s scalp did not go unnoticed by the Dwarf Prince and Fili felt the worry and tension he had carried slowly ease away. By the time Bilbo had teased out every knot and brushed Fili’s hair to smoothness once more, the golden-haired Dwarf had fallen asleep against Bilbo’s knees.

This caused much amusement and a small amount of jealousy from Kili but it was not the last time Bilbo helped Fili care for his hair.

When Fili woke from his long sleep after the battle of the five armies his hair had been a mess. The healers had been more concerned with his wounds than with his hair and Fili had croakily asked Nori to bring Bilbo to brush his hair. When Fili had learned the Hobbit was gone Fili had felt the same hurt, he had felt when his mother couldn’t embrace him after his kidnapping. The ache of a loved one not able to fulfil an unspoken promise.

Their return to the Shire was welcome to Fili and even though that same hurt had lingered in the long months since Bilbo’s departure Fili had hoped that seeing Bilbo would ease it somewhat and that maybe, just maybe his Uncle Thorin would make some advance towards Bilbo so that the Hobbit would come back to Erebor with them.

It was this feeling of wanting to get back the familial relationship with Bilbo and his frustration with his Uncle Thorin that led to Fili’s – unwise- actions at the Feast of Fools. That and the drink. By Mahal, did those Hobbits know how to make a potent brew.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

The sunlight pouring down onto his face woke Fili. He felt the warmth caressing his skin and making his eyelids seem almost translucent. He twitched his nose and groaned at the bright light before trying to roll over and away from it.

His head ached something awful. It was if fifty Dwarves were hammering and chiselling away at the toughest stone known to Mahal and making a cacophony inside his skull. His head hurt too, the soft fabrics of the pillow and sheets that he tried to bury himself in seemed to cause pain as they whispered across his skin.

“Mahal’s balls.” He croaked as he couldn’t get comfortable once more and resigned himself to staggering from his bed.

On standing up Fili swayed slightly, his eyes still closed, and pressed a hand gently to his roiling stomach. He breathed out slowly and inhaled. Something smelt as if it had fallen in a brewery. He grabbed the edge of his beard and lifted it up to his nose.

One sniff and he was forced to drop his beard and press his free hand to his mouth. It was him. He stank of beer, hops and moonshine. He retched and then hastily opened his eyes to search for the table in the room he shared with Kili that usually held a jug of water and some cups.

“This isn’t my room…” Fili murmured as he looked around the unfamiliar furnishings. Indeed, now that he thought about it, his room didn’t face out of the hill. He and Kili were in one of the internal rooms that was surrounded by four walls, not a window in sight. It was almost like being in the mountain, except that the stones didn’t sing in the same way.

Fili tentatively stumbled through the room, his brow furrowed slightly as he tried to work out from the position of the windows and the doorway where exactly in Bag End he was. If he was even in Bilbo’s smial!

“Maker’s breath, what if I’ve ended up taking over some poor unknown Hobbit’s bed?” He whispered, horrified at the idea that when he exited the room some Hobbit he had never met before would be there to see him in all his hungover glory.

The Dwarf Prince paused at the door and leaned his throbbing head against the relatively cool wood. For a while he just stood there, trying to work out how best to handle the situation if it were some random Hobbit’s smial. Then he began to think about all the ‘what ifs’ and it just made him feel more and more queasy.

“Just go out there and deal with whatever situation arises,” he tried to give himself a motivational talk. “You are Fili, Son of Vili, Son of Dis. Sister son of Thorin Oakenshield, Heir Under the Mountain. You can handle one, monster of a hangover and anything that might happen. Just open the door.”

Rallying slightly -and mainly because he hoped to get a bath so he wouldn’t smell so much like a distillery- Fili opened the door.

And instantly regretted it when he came face to face with his Uncle Thorin who was passing by.

Thorin’s face went blank. Then his eyes narrowed. His beard pulled back from his mouth as his lips turned into an angry snarl. His forehead furrowed as his bushy eyebrows came together and sat like fat black caterpillars over his eyes which were spelling out promises of death.

“What in Mahal’s name did you do?!” Thorin roared.

Fili, quite wisely, decided to leg it. He shoved past Thorin and darted down the corridors of Bag End (for he was indeed in Bilbo’s smial) leaping around unsuspecting Dwarves who had been calmly going about their business or summoned from rooms at Thorin’s roar.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Fili yelped as he heard Thorin thundering after him.

“When I get hold of you young Dwarf you are going to wish you’d never been born!” Thorin retorted and a shiver of fear raced down Fili’s spine.

Fili squealed as he slid on the carpet in the hallway and nearly crashed into the wall. He used his hand to push up off the ground and darted deeper into the smial, trying to get lost in the twists and turns that went deep within the hill.

He finally found a door that didn’t look often used and dived inside the room, shutting the door slowly and quietly behind him even though his racing heart and jumpy instincts were telling him to do everything quickly.

Once the door was shut, he turned around to inspect the room he had found to hide in and was horrified to find it was one of Bag End’s bathrooms and it was currently occupied. Bilbo Baggins was sat on a stool, completely naked, and was helping clean off a wriggling Frodo Baggins.

Both Hobbits had frozen in shock at the Dwarf’s entrance and when Bilbo and Fili locked eyes Frodo giggled with amusement.

“Maker’s breath.” Fili whimpered and spun around to dive behind a free-standing towel rail. The Dwarf Prince felt sick and it wasn’t just the hangover.

Frodo squirmed out of Bilbo’s suddenly loose hands and trotted over, bold as brass, to peer behind the towel concealing the Dwarven Prince.

“Are you alright Fili?” Frodo said loudly.

“SHhh!” Fili whispered. “Uncle Thorin doesn’t know where I am. And my head aches Kurkarukê. So quiet voices.”

“Ohh.” Frodo whispered and crouched down. Fili very deliberately kept his eyes affixed to Frodo’s face.

Whilst it was well known to Bilbo and Fili that Dwarves have no qualms about nudity or communal bathing (even though their tattoos were private, or at least the meanings of the tattoos were none of anyone’s business) the Company had been made aware of the privacy a Hobbit required to bathe. Fili was sure that it was different considering Frodo was only little and so needed supervision whilst he bathed but having already incurred Thorin’s wrath he had no desire to incite Bilbo’s too.

“Umm Fili?” Frodo whispered.

“Mmm?” Fili made a questioning noise.

“You smell a bit funny.”

Fili closed his eyes and held back the bile that had risen in his throat. He had momentarily forgotten how completely and utterly rotten he had felt when he was running from Thorin. Now he had stopped for a moment the sensations and smells all came rushing back.

“Frodo Baggins get in the tub and rinse yourself off. You can soak in the bath for a few minutes too. I want to make sure all the chocolate is out of every nook and cranny.”

Bilbo had finished bathing whilst Frodo was occupied and now stood beside the towel rail, a fluffy white towel wrapped around his body. Frodo pouted but obeyed his Uncle like a good little faunt and used the step stool to clamber into the bathtub.

“I’m so sorry Bilbo.” Fili murmured but kept his eyes closed. “I had no idea this was the third bathroom or that it was occupied.”

Bilbo towelled himself off before starting to dress himself with the clothing in a neat pile on a nearby dresser.

“I don’t suppose you remember why your Uncle is so incensed?” Bilbo said sarcastically.

“I don’t know! I literally just came out of a bedroom and there he was. Suddenly he just started shouting and I ran.”

Frodo giggled from in the bathtub where he was splashing at the water and blowing the bubbles out of his hands.

“Fili forgot everything!” Frodo chortled and grinned happily at Fili. “Is it because he drank too much of Gaffer’s homebrew? Do you think he’ll really have to get married to Obsidian Took, Uncle Bilbo? And Fili you should really apologise to Uncle Bilbo. It wasn’t very nice to steal a kiss from him.”

Fili’s eyes flew open and his face drained of all colour.

“Married? Kiss? Homebrew?” His voice went higher and higher before he groaned and sagged down to the floor in a smelly, aching, tired and bewildered pile of Dwarf.

“Oh dear.” Bilbo peered around the towel rail at the almost sobbing Dwarf. “I think you may have broken him Frodo my lad.”

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Fili remained in his crumpled Dwarven pile of confusion, sorrow, pain and misery and was complete oblivious to Frodo finishing off his bath and being dried and dressed. The Dwarf only became aware of his surroundings when Bilbo began to give Frodo instructions.

“Frodo, my lad, I have an adventure for you. A quest as it were. Do you think you can handle it?” Bilbo spoke with an air of mystery.

Frodo jumped up and down in place nodding emphatically. An adventure was sure to exciting, a quest even more so and Frodo had been worried he would be bored today as his friends had all gone to their homes after the Feast of Fools and Frodo had wondered if any of the Dwarves would want to play. He had seen them all, drinking Gaffer’s homebrew, and knew that when his Pa drank Gaffer’s brew, he never wanted to play the next day. Frodo didn’t like playing the quiet games all day when his father felt icky, but he did like reading so it wasn’t too bad. But with all the Dwarves in the smial and his friends being at home Frodo would have their attention all to himself and the opportunity was just too exciting.

“Yes Uncle Bilbo! I can do it!”

“Hmm are you sure?”

Frodo nodded emphatically, his curls bouncing so much they looked as if they might spring off his head.

“Your quest, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, is to keep King Thorin entertained for as long as possible. You must ask the King to help you get your elvensies and to play with you and, if you can manage it, to make him eat lunch and read a book to you afterwards.”

“I can do that Uncle Bilbo. Easy-peasy.”

Bilbo raised one eyebrow.

“But you mustn’t let Thorin know that Fili is here. If Thorin asks you must say you don’t know where Fili is. Can you do that?”

Again Frodo nodded.

“It’ll be like you and Smaug, when you told him you didn’t know about any Dwarves. Only Thorin isn’t as scary and I shouldn’t tell lies.”

Bilbo nodded.

“This is true, Thorin is definitely not as scary as Smaug and you shouldn’t tell lies. Maybe you could just change the subject if Thorin asks?”

Frodo thought for a moment before agreeing.

“What’s in it for me though? What’s my reward at the end of the Quest?”

“Two cookies for your supper.”

“Two cookies and a piece of spice cake and a mug of hot chocolate.”

“One cookie and a piece of spice cake and a small mug of hot chocolate.”

Silence for several long moments.

“One cookie for me, a piece of spice cake, a small mug of hot chocolate and a cookie for Thorin.” Frodo retorted.

“Deal.” Bilbo extended his hand and they both shook on it, a true gentle-Hobbit’s agreement.

Frodo pattered over to the door and opened it. He had barely begun to swing the door closed when Thorin’s voice suddenly rumbled out.

“What have you been doing Kurkarukê?” The King still sounded irritated but had soothed his rage in order to speak with Frodo.

“I was brushing my teeth. Will you come and help me make some elvensies Thorin? I want to make some toast with jam, but I can’t cut the bread on my own. Come on.”

Thorin spluttered but his voice faded away as Frodo led him down the corridor towards the kitchen.

Bilbo peered out and saw Frodo had grabbed Thorin’s large hand, well really just a finger of one hand, and was leading the bemused King down the corridor.

“That crafty little Hobbit.” Bilbo muttered amusedly. He turned his attention back to Fili who was peering mournfully around the towel rail.

“Right Fili. Get those clothes off, un-braid your hair and into the bathtub with you. I’ll go and find your clean clothes. I think there were some washed and dried the other day.”

Bilbo crept from the bathroom and Fili stood up and stared around the room with some confusion. Nevertheless, he obeyed Bilbo’s orders and when the Hobbit returned, clean clothes in hand, Fili had sunk gratefully into the still warm water and had dunked himself under the soapy bubbles.

Bilbo kept his gaze averted from the bathtub as he deposited the clothes on the dresser and then turned to the bathtub, turning the hot tap to add a little hotter water to the cooling mass in the tub already.

He handed Fili a wash cloth and a bar of soap and left the Dwarf to scrub himself. In a jug on the dresser there was some cooled rosemary tea and Bilbo added a small amount of hot water to it by scooping some from under the tap after turning it on briefly.

By the time Fili had finished lathering and rinsing his hair and washing his body Bilbo had gathered together some items which he had laid down by the bathtub, out of Fili’s sight and had brought a stool over to the side of the bathtub.

“Rinse your hair with this. It’s rosemary tea. It’ll make your hair shinier and make it smell more pleasant, just in case the soap hasn’t eradicated all the smell of alcohol.”

Fili took the jug and slowly poured it over his scalp, making sure he got all his hair and beard. Once the jug was empty he blindly handed it back to Bilbo before squeezing out the excess liquid with his hands.

Bilbo sat forward on the stool.

“Lean back against the edge of the tub and soak for a bit. I’m going to press the water out and once it is sufficiently dry, I’ll comb out the tangles. Ideally I would have combed it before you washed but even my nose couldn’t stand the smell.”

Fili blushed but sank back against the tub, his neck just able to rest on the edge of the tub with his hair hanging over and dripping onto the floor. Bilbo gathered a fluffy towel up in his hands and slowly and gently pressed the towel against the strands over and over, soaking up the water and letting the hair dry slowly.

They sat in silence for a while before Bilbo finally brought up the events of the previous night.

“So you really don’t remember the Feast of Fools?”

Fili hummed before answering.

“I remember lots of good food, drinks, dancing and happy Hobbits and Dwarves. You and Uncle Thorin were wearing complimenting clothes. It all gets a bit blurry after we finished the pudding… I won something didn’t I?”

“You had the piece of pudding with the King’s coin in it. This is a Hobbit tradition that means whoever finds the coin, male or female, is crowned the King or Queen of Fools and can carry out and issue commands for the evening. You made rather an astounding show.” Bilbo said diplomatically.

“What did I do?” Fili groaned.

“Well, you commanded Ori and Dwalin to hold hands for the rest of the night. Bofur had to give up his hat to the Thain. You commanded everyone to dance to your favourite song. You instigated a drinking challenge between several Dwarves and Hobbits and you also commandeered the melted chocolate dessert. That was when you tripped over Frodo, poured the melted chocolate all over the lad and fell on top of Obsidian Took.”

Fili closed his eyes. He had a vague recollection of tripping over Frodo and the pan of melted chocolate going soaring into the air. He had tried to catch it before it landed on the faunt but only succeeded in grabbing one handle and the melted chocolate cascaded out of the large pan and all over the faunt.

The next thing he remembered was crashing into someone. He scrunched his eyes up and thought. It had been a woman, taller than most Hobbits and around the same height as him. She had been dressed in a strange mixture of clothing. Billowy emerald coloured trousers tucked into dark boots with fluffy white fur creeping out over the edges. A strange split skirt with patterns of flowers and vines settled over her hips and was belted around her middle with a sea-blue scarf. A simple blue shirt edged with white fur around the collar and sleeves hung almost off her shoulders and a black corset narrowed her waist down. White blonde hair, so pale it was almost white was braided away off her face revealing a pert nose dusted with freckles and a pair of deep blue eyes wide with shock.

“I remember a woman, she had white fur trimmings on her clothes…” Fili murmured.

Bilbo made a noise of recognition.

“That would have been Obsidian Took. A bit of a strange lass, although not as strange as myself, compared to other Hobbits. She is of the North Tooks who live far up in the North Farthing. I believe she may be a cousin of mine several times removed but I do not have many dealings with those Tooks. Descended from my Took ancestor, Bullroarer, the North Tooks are not so hesitant about leaving the Shire. It is said that Obsidian’s mother left the Shire when she came of age and lived amongst Men and Dwarves for a time. When she returned, she was pregnant with Obsidian and the lass was born here herself near on forty years ago. It is believed that Obsidian is of Dwarven heritage but nobody says anything, it wouldn’t be polite. She tends to keep to herself, spends a lot of time with the Rangers who pass by the Shire and is a skilled trapper and tracker. She provided the deer and boar that were roasted at the Feast last night.”

Fili remembered the roasted meat. It had been well seasoned and juicy and had accompanied his potatoes well. He thought some more and remembered watching Obsidian Took as she stood on the stage with the musicians and sang with a rich, full voice. Then another memory slammed into him like a hammer.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Fili drank his tankard of Gaffer’s brew. He couldn’t actually remember how many he had drunk by now.

He wrinkled his nose as a tendril of mistletoe fell from his garland crown and tickled his nose. The mistletoe gave him an idea.

“I have a proco-lomo-ation to make!” He shouted out. He stood on the table to cheers from the gathered Dwarves and Hobbits. He couldn’t understand why the world seemed to be swaying but his idea had to be shared! Once it was, he could get off the table and go see Obsidian again. She had been very nice and hadn’t minded too much when Fili had crashed into her after tripping over Frodo.

“Are you sure you want to say whatever it is you’re thinking Fee?” Kili’s voice hiccupped in his ear as his brother clambered onto the table and wrapped his arm around his brother’s waist.

“Tis the most excellentish idea I have ever thought!” Fili roared. “All Hobbits and Dwarves must find and steal a kiss! Find a sprig of mistletoe and then go find the person your hearts most desire and steal a kiss. Tis an ancient Dwarvish tradition to steal a kiss at Yule but we shall incorpor-inclorpor… join it with the Hobbitish tradition of mistletoe kisses. Begin!”

There was a rush as every Hobbit and Dwarf, male and female rushed to nearby garlands that bedecked the tents to grab a sprig of mistletoe and go and find someone to steal a kiss from. Fili felt Kili slide down his side and when he looked down, he saw his brother curled up on the table, his empty tankard cuddled in his arms.

Fili frowned and rubbed his mouth. He wanted to go and steal a kiss from Obsidian Took. But he couldn’t leave Kili on the table like that, he would get cold. Fili took off his coat and laid it over his brother. The golden-brown fur hem tickled Kili’s face and his brother buried his head further under the coat.

Satisfied that Kili would stay warm Fili turned his attention to the throng of Hobbits and Dwarves who were either stationary and kissing or rushing past looking for someone to kiss.  

His slightly taller stature helped him see over the heads of the Hobbits and Fili spotted Obsidian still up on the stage, watching the furore with an amused expression.

The Dwarf Prince started to make his way towards the stage but didn’t quite get there. He tripped over something or someone and was turned around and confused. He put out his arms to try and brace his fall but found them wrapped around someone and his lips pressed against someone else’s.

Fili opened his eyes wide and found himself staring into the equally shocked and surprised eyes of Bilbo Baggins.

Fili reeled back and licked his lips. Bilbo had been eating chocolate. Behind Bilbo, Fili spotted his Uncle Thorin. Uncle Thorin looked an upsetting amount of disappointed, confused and upset and Fili’s bewildered mind tried to sort it all out. He didn’t like Uncle Thorin looking like that.

Before he could however another body crashed into his and Fili found his arms full of Obsidian Took who had been forced off the stage by one of her less caring musicians who had been coming towards her with his lips puckered up for a wet and sloppy smooch.

Obsidian’s arm was around Fili’s shoulders and her nose rubbed against his a she panted from the surprise.

Fili stared into her eyes for a moment before saying loudly and surprisingly clearly (considering his inebriated state) “Will you marry me Obsidian Took?”

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Fili groaned as some of his memories trickled back.

“Thorin’s going to kill me.”

Bilbo snorted. “I think you should be more concerned about Obsidian’s mother. She was not best pleased that you drunkenly proposed to her daughter in front of the entire North-Took clan. Nor that you kept Obsidian in your lap for the rest of the night.”

Fili moaned.

“Exactly. And you never know, I might decide to exact some revenge for that stolen kiss…”

Fili held perfectly still in the bath. Bilbo continued combing the Dwarf’s dry hair, the comb rasping through the strands as he teased out the final knots.

“However, I believe you have suffered enough. Especially as I know why your Uncle was so upset with you this morning.”

Fili turned slightly to peer at Bilbo from behind his hair.

“You were so tipsy that you couldn’t make it all the way to your room last night. Thorin had gone off to sulk -”

“Don’t you mean brood majestically?” Fili quipped.

“fine, majestically sulk, and your brother could barely stand up by himself anyway. The rest of the Company had already retired and brought Frodo, covered in chocolate by the way, back to Bag End and so only Nori and me remained. We borrowed one of the North-Took’s ponies to carry you back to Bag End but by the time we had managed to wrestle you part the way through the smial we were both tired and exhausted. Thus, we decided to deposit your slumbering form in my bedroom.”

Silence fell in the bathroom and Fili bit his lip nervously.

“I am sorry Bilbo.”

“I’m sure you are.”

The Dwarf Prince could hear the disapproval in Bilbo’s voice and it made his heart ache.

“I really am. I’ll make it up to you, and I’ll go speak with Obsidian Took and her mother and apologise and see what I can do to make sure her reputation isn’t harmed in anyway. And I’ll look after Frodo as an apology for covering him in chocolate and I’ll stop Uncle Thorin from brooding.”

“I just want to know what came over you. You don’t normally go so far Fili. I’m more worried than angry.”

Fili felt his chest tighten again.

“I was angry.” He whispered.

Bilbo switched from the comb to the brush and gently, slowly and with so much care that Fili could feel it pulled the soft bristled through Fili’s hair.

“Why were you angry?”

“You left us. We were horrible to you before the Battle. We were horrible and we didn’t snap out of it until Uncle Thorin threatened to drop you from the battlements and you still came to help us on Ravenhill and you packed my wounds with cloth and moss and herbs so that I lasted until I was found and then when I awoke from my sleep you weren’t there!” Fili’s voice rose and sped up until he was shouting.

“And Thorin and Kili were still sleeping and you weren’t there and my hair was a mess and I couldn’t apologise and you weren’t there…”

Bilbo didn’t stop brushing his hair and Fili felt a few tears well up in his eyes.

“I was angry because you weren’t there, and it felt like you had abandoned us, but I was also angry because I couldn’t apologise. And then we came here, and there you were and I haven’t been able to say anything and I felt all this bitter anger and jealousy well up and I just wanted to drink it all away.  I’m so sorry Bilbo. So very, very sorry.” Fili’s voice broke and he took in a deep breath.

Bilbo’s free hand reached around Fili’s head to cradle the young Dwarf Prince’s bearded cheek. His thumb stroked the skin above Fili’s beard and Fili leant his head into Bilbo’s hand.

“I am sorry for leaving my lad. And I forgive you even though I know why you weren’t yourself back at the mountain.”

For a long time, Fili and Bilbo stayed together, silently soothing each other.

Once Bilbo was finally finished brushing through Fili’s hair he turned away and let the Dwarf climb out of the bath and get dried and dressed whilst he sorted out draining and cleaning the bathtub.

When Fili was dressed, and he had re-braided his hair once more, the Dwarf Prince turned to Bilbo who was standing and watching. The Hobbit held his arms open and Fili dived into them, nuzzling his face into the crook of Bilbo’s neck and wrapping his arms around Bilbo, pressing the Hobbit tight to him.

“Oh, my boy.” Bilbo crooned and carded his fingers through Fili’s shining mane of golden hair. “I understand you feel things deeper and you feel more responsibility. You can always, always talk to me though Fili.”

Fili nuzzled further into Bilbo’s shoulder and felt a warmth spreading through him. The kind of warmth you get from the embrace of one who loves and cares for you. It pushed away some of the hurt Fili felt from Bilbo’s departure from Erebor and some of the old sting from not being able to be openly affectionate with his mother and uncle. Instead that warm, cosy feeling made Fili’s throat swell and he felt calm and love fill his soul.

For the first time in a long time, Fili felt content.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments so far! I'm glad some of you are enjoying my first AO3 published work! 
> 
> Let me know what you think of the idea of Fili/Obsidian Took... I literally have no idea where she came from. She just kind of sprang into being over the weekend whilst I wrote this chapter.


	10. Nori and a Crafty Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori has been doing his job as a spymaster and has heard some rumours and gossip that he doesn't approve of. No one should be making up tales about their Hobbit. He and Bilbo hatch some, relatively, harmless revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy December! Christmas is coming everyone so have a chapter. 
> 
> Thank you for all the Kudos, Bookmarks, Subscriptions and Comments!! I love hearing from you so please say hi! 
> 
> This might be my last update for a couple of weeks. I have three assignments to write which hopefully won't take me too long but I also have seminars and lectures to attend and that is the priority. On a positive note there are only 6 chapters to go and I have them planned so it shouldn't take too long to write them once I have some free time.

 

* * *

Nori knew his own reputation. He knew what others thought of him, what they whispered behind his back, what they said to each other in the dark corners of streets or pubs.

Nori the Thief, Nori the Secret Stealer, Nori of the Light Fingers, Nori the King’s Spymaster.

He liked his titles. They proved his worth even if they weren’t the normal reputable titles a Dwarf would aspire to. He was good at his trade and really being capable at his craft and being able to protect and provide for his family and friends was the most important thing to him.

He knew Dori didn’t entirely approve. He saw it in his eyes whenever Nori returned home after a job when Nori first started his criminal career. The disapproval would be present but was always accompanied by worry. Nori couldn’t remember the number of times he would come home, in the middle of the night after a long job to find Dori sat wide awake knitting or sewing, easy tasks that didn’t require a lot concentration in the low light of the dying fire or the few candles Dori decided he could afford to light. Sometimes Nori would come home and find Dori fast asleep, his hands tucked into the fabric with the needle hanging from the thread.

Nori always felt loved, even if Dori disapproved his actions showed that he cared in spite of Nori’s many flaws.

It wasn’t a career that Nori deliberately aimed for. When he was a Dwarfling he thought he might become a warrior or a jeweller. It was in the settlements of Men that Nori realised his skills lay more towards subterfuge and the more criminal pursuits.

Travelling from Erebor, the caravan of hundreds of Dwarves exiled from Erebor, Men were not so welcoming to their Dwarven neighbours. They would bar them from entering the towns and villages of Men or refuse to trade with the Dwarves. It wasn’t like the Dwarves had any of the great riches they originally crafted or mined, Smaug had stolen them all, so trade wasn’t appealing for the Men. They believed that the Dwarves were being stingy, offering their worst examples of crafting and bartering so they could keep their gold.

Nori knew that his fellow Dwarves were not being as miserly as the Men believed. The jewels and precious items that the Ereborean Dwarves had managed to save were those they had on them, precious items that belonged to families, heirlooms that held sentimental rather than monetary value. It was the sign of the direly desperate that would sacrifice their family heirlooms and beloved items to try and buy a morsel of food to feed their hungry children, spouse or beloved relatives.

Seeing the Men treating his fellows so poorly enraged Nori. A sense of righteousness and fury boiled up in him and he took it into his own hands to get food for his family, Dori who was struggling to care for a three-month-old Ori. Ori was born a few days after the fall of Erebor and their mother didn’t make it. Giving birth on the road was not ideal at the best of times but their mother had been tired and exhausted, and Ori’s birth was too much for their mother.

Nori couldn’t remember where they buried their mother, somewhere in the wilds between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains. An unmarked grave, one amongst many.

Nori had pushed down his anger and bitterness and thought about what he could actually do. He had no money, no jewels nothing of worth to trade. So, if he could not trade he would steal. It seemed better to him to steal than for Ori to starve. For Ori and the other Dwarflings who had lost parents to the Dragon’s arrival.

He had slipped into the town at the dead of night and ransacked several warehouses and stores, taking only as much as he could carry and only enough from each that it wouldn’t cost the seller too much.

That was the first time he stole. He left sacks outside the tents of those who most needed the food. Sacks with dried fruit, oats, grains, dried and smoked meats and fish. For the families with young ones he was even able to milk a few goats and he found some tankards which he could cover with a scrap of cloth to keep bugs out.

Dori hadn’t approved of Nori’s stealing when he woke the following morning and found the sack of food and the tankard of milk. His brother said nothing however and gratefully warmed the milk over the fire before soaking a clean scrap of cloth in it and dribbling it into the hungry mouth of Ori.

That day the Dwarves were happier and healthier, and Nori saw how his skills and helped.

That was the beginning of Nori’s trade. From there he had his highs and lows. He gained more and more skills; picking locks, walking unheard past guards, where to hit in a fight for the most impact, how to flog his stolen goods for the best price, who’s information to trust and who would rather stab in him the back.

He had done things he wasn’t proud of, but he would never regret it, that first job where he stole food to feed his people. Nothing would ever be worth more than the safety of Dori and Ori and when he eventually came into Thorin’s employ, the lives of Durin’s children became just as important. Following a king who recognised and accepted his talents was worth following.

Bilbo Baggins was a conundrum to Nori. He didn’t seem to approve or disapprove of Nori’s career when he met the Dwarf. But Nori could recognise the skills Bilbo brought to the Company. He was light on his feet, could slip into the background and go unnoticed by all (except Nori of course who always knew where everyone was) and could talk his way out of many a situation.

Nori also appreciated Bilbo’s level-headedness. A group of thirteen Dwarves, all male and stubborn, was not a good mix for keeping tempers even and stopping disagreements. And Nori knew that a disagreement could often blow up out of proportion and rage like dragon fire, uncaring if it burned innocent bystanders.

Bilbo was able to diffuse several situations between even some of the short-tempered and easily triggered Dwarves. He could also approach the various complicated situations they found themselves in with a rational mind and none of the previous history that the Dwarves had with Men and Elves.

Bilbo also had a mischievous streak to him, which Nori adored. Nori’s favourite of Bilbo’s tricks was when the Hobbit wove flowers into a sleeping Thorin’s hair at Beorn’s home. The unsuspecting King woke to find himself swarmed by the large bees and couldn’t (for several hours) work out why the bees were so attracted to him.

It was this mischievous streak that found Nori approaching Bilbo to pass on some gossip he had accumulated from listening to the Hobbits at the market and at the Feast of Fools the previous night. There was an opportunity for fun and mischief making to happen and Nori couldn’t resist.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bag End had finally settled down after the events of the morning. Thorin had been pacified and had forgiven Fili, to an extent, and put his nephew’s braids and beads back in once Fili had explained the whole misunderstanding.

Nori had found himself a nook and tucked himself away from all the hustle and bustle. His job as a spy and the King’s shadow meant he never really stopped working. Even in the Shire, in Hobbiton, Nori was keeping his ear to the ground (metaphorically of course, although when they were in Erebor the stones would sometimes whisper secrets. The stones didn’t always know what secrets were new and which were old, that was the problem with stones that couldn’t tell the passing of time).

Nori had yet to unearth any dastardly Hobbit or Dwarf plots against his King or against the royal family and so he was able to pay attention to the rumours going around the Shire about their esteemed host, one Bilbo Baggins. Well, rumours about Bilbo and about the Dwarves he had staying with him in Bag End.

Some of the rumours were downright malicious, even by Nori’s standards, and were ones he most certainly wouldn’t repeat to Bilbo who could sometimes be so proper and upstanding – a gentlehobbit.

Nori had traced the rumours back to one particular family (and I’m sure, dear reader, you can guess that family’s identity with one guess): the Sackville-Baggins'.

Such spite and vitriol flowed from both Otho and Lobelia’s lips and when Hobbits had, had a few drinks they could be very unforgiving of Bilbo’s oddities, especially when the Sackville-Bagginses voices were so loud.

Nori waited patiently until Bag End had emptied out a bit, Dwarves scattering to sort out their businesses, visit family relations or get a breath of fresh air and only Bilbo, Thorin, Fili and Kili remained in the smial. Frodo had commandeered the Durins and so Nori took advantage of the situation and pulled Bilbo to one side.

“Bilbo, a word?”

Bilbo looked surprised at Nori’s presence but willingly went along with the spymaster to his office.

The Hobbit settled himself in his desk chair and invited Nori to take a seat by the lit fire. The Dwarf refused the seat with a smile but leaned against the mantle and stared into the flames. Although he felt very strongly about injustices and had strong emotions Nori didn’t find looking at others when imparting bad news particularly pleasant. It made his stomach turn if they became saddened and he never knew what to do with emotions.

“I’ve been listening Bilbo. One of the things I do, being the King’s spy and all. And a thief always finds it helpful to have an idea of the comings and goings.”

Bilbo interrupted with an almost stern tone – but he clearly wasn’t too upset.

“I hope you haven’t stolen from anyone Nori. The worst thievery is usually from the fauntlings when pies or cakes are left unattended on window sills. It would cause quite a stir.”

“Thief’s honour, I’ve stolen nothing…”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow and puffed on his pipe.

“A couple of biscuits but they were from your larder and we are your guests so not exactly stealing.” Nori admitted.

The Hobbit chuckled and shook his head.

“So, what is being said around Hobbiton that would cause you to take me to one side. I assume it has something to do with me?”

Nori coughed uncomfortably and shifted into a more relaxed position.

“There are rumours and gossip spreading through Hobbiton. Some of them are quite nasty Bilbo, casting aspersions on your character and your honour.”

“What are these rumours and gossips saying about me?”

“I wouldn’t care to repeat them Master Baggins.”

“Humour me, Nori, and don’t call me Master Baggins – you know it’s Bilbo to you and everyone else.”

Nori coughed and licked his lips. He wished he had stolen a few sips of the whisky in the drink cabinet. A little drink would have calmed him he thought.

“There have been comments about the company to start with. In particular, after Fili’s... unwise, actions last night, they are being quite rude about the Princes and Dwarrow in general. I heard that Obsidian Took has also been the recipient of foul words; some are saying she was flirting and teasing male Hobbits for years and that her Dwarrow blood made her encourage Fili. The rumours about you are worse. Some of the kinder ones say that you are having relations with all the Dwarves staying with you. That you behave indecorously and that it will impact on the faunts negatively. That you earned the gold you came back with from your trip from less – admired activities.”

Bilbo paled slightly. He didn’t much care what others thought of him or how he had earned his gold. The fact that Hobbits were saying he would be a bad influence on the faunts, well, that one stung quite a bit. The faunts would always listen to his stories and even if the could be cruel (calling him Mad Baggins to his face) he knew that they didn’t mean it and were normally just repeating something they’d heard their parents or adults saying.

“Are you alright Bilbo?” Nori glanced over.

“Hmm? Oh yes, I’m fine Nori. No need to worry.” Bilbo responded absently and stared into the fire himself, lost in his thoughts.

“There’ve been two particular Hobbits who’ve been perpetrating these rumours. Sackville-Baggins.”

Bilbo scoffed and puffed on his pipe irritated.

“Lobelia and Otho. Unsurprising.”

Nori raised his eyebrow, not that you could tell particularly well since it was woven up into his hair.

“Thought you’d mentioned them a time or two before. And you had a run in with them the other day didn’t you. Thorin scared ‘em off though.”

“I’m afraid even Thorin isn’t enough to stop Lobelia and Otho’s greed and sharp tongue.” Bilbo knocked out his pipe and set it to one side. He wanted to clasp his bandaged hands, but he knew Oin would not be pleased if he burst the last of the blisters that were slowly healing. If he did clasp his hands together in order to contain his fury and upset he most surely would do himself harm.

“Well, I thought you should know about these rumours. And that I could offer a way to get a little harmless revenge. I’ve already begun combatting the rumours. Dwarves in the market who know of your courage and your deeds have begun speaking of them to one another and in front of your fellow Hobbits. Opinions are swaying back in your favour and you have a few Hobbit friends who will quickly shut down any gossip mongering. The Gamgees are your most stalwart defenders but the Thain and a Drogo and Primula Baggins have said a few words on your behalf too.”

Bilbo smiled at his friends and family defending him. There were still some Hobbits with honour and a sense of loyalty. Courage, honour and a willing heart indeed. Nori was one of the most honourable and loyal Dwarves Bilbo had ever met, not that the Dwarf would ever admit to it.

“This is good news. But I am intrigued as to what you have planned for revenge. I do so enjoy a little bit of revenge, as long as no one is permanently harmed.”

Nori shook his head and grinned.

“I thought you’d say that. The Sackville-Baggins' will suffer no permanent damage. Well, maybe permanent mortification, humiliation and embarrassment.”

“And those will not kill anyone.” Bilbo chuckled.

“Indeed. I heard that you and your family play a game? The White Oliphant?”

“Yes, it’s a Baggins tradition. Everyone gets a gift and wraps it and leaves it unmarked so that the gift giver’s identity is secret. Then the gifts are left in a designated place and all the participants are given a number. We usually do it this evening at the Green Dragon. We go in order and select a present. We don’t unwrap them until everyone has a gift but instead of picking a gift from the selection each gift can be stolen from people who’ve already selected. If the present they chose is stolen, they can take another from the pile. A Hobbit can only loose their chosen present twice, after that they’re immune.”

Nori’s eyes twinkled from below his bushy eyebrows and he grinned widely. He looked incredibly mischievous.

“Perfect. Are the gifts supposed to be quality ones?”

Bilbo shook his head, a mischievous smirk spreading on his own face.

“It’s whatever you can afford. I always tend to give a book or cakes or some ribbons that my female cousins wouldn’t be able to afford.”

“Excellent.” Nori steepled his hands and chuckled. “All we need now is a little bit of time for me to go and gather some items from a friend, a little bit of carving and some gift wrapping.”

“I’ll wait here.” Bilbo replied. “Although if you could take a message to Drogo Baggins on your way I would appreciate it.”

Nori watched as Bilbo quickly found a piece of parchment and dipped his quill in his ink pot and began writing quickly.

The note was very short, and Bilbo folded it and sealed it with a dollop of wax and the Baggins seal before blowing on the wax to try and cool it somewhat. He handed the note to Nori and the Dwarf felt his fingers itch with the temptation to open it. Secrets from his friends were safe in Nori’s hands however and he tucked the note into a secret pocket on the inside of his jacket.

“I’ll be back within the hour. See if you can’t find some fancy paper or cloth to wrap the gift in. We will enact the most delightful revenge on your relatives.”

Nori winked and left Bag End.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

By the time he returned, after dropping the note off to Drogo Baggins who had seemed most amused to be getting a letter from his cousin delivered by Dwarf, and then going to find his friend in the home of one of the Hobbits who had agreed to shelter Dwarves, Bilbo was tucked away with Drogo in his study.

Frodo was pouting because Bilbo had also requested Thorin’s presence and they had been in the middle of a grand Dwarven story about a Dwarf who was cursed to be a beast and dwell alone in his mountain until a Dwarven lass could break the spell. Frodo was waiting to see how the Dwarrow broke the spell, he was hoping it wasn’t a kiss. But Thorin had been dragged away by Uncle Bilbo, right in the exciting bit.

Fili and Kili were doing their best to entertain Frodo and were succeeding to an extent. They were juggling items from around Bag End and Nori hoped that they didn’t drop or break anything, including Frodo or themselves.

Nori managed to slip into Bilbo’s study without being noticed.

Bilbo was sat at his desk, Drogo standing to his left and looking amazed and flabbergasted and Thorin standing to his right and looking an amusing mixture of hopeful and impressed.

“I believe that should have everything?” Bilbo said. “If I can just get you to read it over Drogo, and you too Thorin, then we all need to sign all three copies and I’ll put my seal on them, just a precaution of course. Then one copy can go to the Thain in case it’s contested, one to you Drogo and I’ll keep one for myself.”

Drogo took the paper with sweaty, shaking hands and licked his dry lips.

Nori thought it was always odd that when you were nervous your hands could become swamp-like, all damp and clammy but your mouth would suddenly be dryer than the deserts of Harad. It was as if all the moisture in your mouth went to your hands (and your armpits and other places but we won’t mention those).

Drogo read through the parchment, his eyes flicking across the page and Thorin had taken the third copy and was reading it through too.

Bilbo sat and waited patiently, he had noticed Nori waiting in the corner even if the others hadn’t, and Nori winked when Bilbo’s gaze fell upon him.

“It-it all seems in order. But are you certain Bilbo? Is this re-really what you want?” Drogo stammered out.

“I have no direct kin by blood. You and Frodo may not be my closest blood relatives, but you are the family I am closest too. And even if you were not, I would still wish for my estate, properties and belongings to go to you in the event of my demise. I know you do not covet my estate and that you care for me despite my wealth. And I love Frodo. He is… most important and dear to me.”

Bilbo smiled fondly.

“Besides, can you imagine the look on Lobelia and Otho’s faces when they discover Bag End will never be theirs?”

Drogo chuckled nervously and handed the document back to Bilbo. Nori now knew it was Bilbo’s will, or at least a codicil – an amendment, and that Bilbo was leaving all his estate to Drogo and Frodo. That would most definitely infuriate the Sackville-Baggins'.

Nori applauded Bilbo’s ingenuity, revenge played in the long game, for Nori did not see any reason for Bilbo’s will to be revealed soon. It may even be years before Lobelia and Otho found out what Bilbo had done.

Drogo, Bilbo and Thorin had signed the will and Nori watched as Bilbo made three identical seals on the bottom of each parchment.

“Thorin, could I ask Fili to take this to my Grandfather? I will write a note explaining what it is and my Grandfather will know it is true. This may also be an opportunity for Fili to find and apologise to Obsidian Took.”

Thorin seemed to scowl a bit but quickly stopped at a cough from Bilbo. The King looked almost sheepish before nodding and taking the proffered parchment and the accompanying note Bilbo had written.

“Drogo.” Thorin rumbled before leaving the study and barking at Fili and Kili for something they were doing. Nori did not want to know what they were doing.

“I’ll take Frodo back with me if you want now Bilbo?” Drogo smiled. “Give you some peace and quiet without a pesky faunt underfoot. I love that child but Primula and I have definitely enjoyed the time to ourselves.”

“I’m sure you have.” Bilbo drawled and raised an eyebrow. Drogo frowned puzzledly for a moment before realising what Bilbo was implying.

Drogo spluttered, and he flushed a shade of crimson from his neck up to the tips of his ears.

“Maybe I’ll get a niece from the ‘adult time’ you and Primula have had.” Bilbo teased.

Drogo scowled but there was a hint of fondness in his otherwise embarrassed face.

“Do you want me to take my child or not?”

“If you can drag him away from Thorin and Kili, then of course you can take your own child.”

Drogo clapped Bilbo on the shoulder.

“If you change your mind about the will Bilbo, I won’t be upset or disappointed.”

Bilbo shook his head and pointed to his study door.

“I’m not going to change my mind. Now go collect Frodo and manage his tears when you tell him he has to leave his new playmates.”

The younger Hobbit finally left, finally noticing Nori in the corner, and shook his head in amusement at Bag End being full of Dwarves. Drogo wondered what his Aunt Belladonna would have thought of Bag End having such exotic guests. He was sure she would’ve been delighted and managed to find out many Dwarven secrets with her charm and her persistence.

“You’ve been busy since I left.” Nori droned.

Bilbo grinned wickedly.

“It’s been such fun. Thinking of their faces going through shock, despair, anger, horror, disappointment and the utter humiliation was more than motivating. Now, what is your plan for immediate revenge?”

Nori slunk over and held open the satchel and showed Bilbo the contents. Bilbo frowned.

“I assume there’s some surprise element to them?”

“Of course, what do you take me for Bilbo?” Nori held his chest as though Bilbo’s lack of faith had hurt him.

Bilbo merely rolled his eyes.

“Let’s get carving. I assume they’ll be more inclined to use them if they look more interesting. Do you think you have something we can put them in and wrap so you can’t tell what they are?” Nori began laying everything out away from the fire.

Bilbo held up a metal box, it was embossed with flowers and vines and was fairly tasteful. It did not look like Dwarven craft, however.  

“Hmm, that looks familiar.” Nori said and frowned at the box.

“It’s from Rivendell. Lord Elrond gave me some herbs and spices and he put them in this box for me to travel back to the Shire without loosing them.”

“Ah, Second Age elf work. I know it now.” Nori scowled.

Bilbo chuckled and watched as Nori began following patterns and images from a book of flowers Bilbo produced.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bilbo watched in amusement as the entire Baggins family, including Primula, Drogo and Frodo and the Sackville-Baggins', assembled around the gifts piled on a table in the Green Dragon. The adults all had a beer in hand and the faunts had been given spiced apple juice so they could join in the celebration.

Bilbo knew that Nori had already switched Lobelia’s number so that she would be the final gift picker. Bilbo’s gift was also currently hidden from sight and Nori would slip into view when the last two gifts were left. That way Lobelia was certain to get Bilbo’s gift and she would know it was from him. The quality of the paper wrapping and the ribbons would only point to Bilbo.

The evening progressed just as Nori and Bilbo planned. Bilbo picked his gift and sat back and sipped his honey mead and watched as Nori lurked in a shadowy corner of the pub, ready to slip the present into the light when the time came.

Bilbo had also noticed that Fili was in the Green Dragon. He had been there when they arrived, a tankard clasped between his hands as he sat and stared deeply at the patterns of the wooden table. Not long after the last of the Baggins had arrived and everyone had sipped on their drinks, Obsidian Took sidled in. She had her hood up, the one trimmed with white fur, and she only slipped it down once she spotted Fili.

Bilbo had watched with fondness as Fili had noticed her standing and lunged up from the table, causing the bench he had been sitting on to topple over with a crash. More than one pair of eyes had watched as Fili grinned embarrassed and rubbed the back of his head. Obsidian had taken it in her stride however, and sat down opposite Fili, putting her bow and quiver down within reach.

The young pair had stayed there throughout the evening, completely oblivious to Bilbo’s and Nori’s watchful eyes. Bilbo knew it wouldn’t do for Obsidian to have more rumours spread about her behaviour and even though there were many Hobbits and Dwarves in the Green Dragon, as Fili’s host Bilbo could act as a chaperone of sorts. No one would question him to his face and especially not if he could name Hobbits and Dwarves sat in the Green Dragon at the same time.

The time eventually came for Nori to slip the present into the light and Bilbo was amused to see Nori had slipped some powder of some sort into Lobelia’s cup when she wasn’t paying attention. A few sips and Lobelia began sneezing. In fact, she sneezed so hard that her head was thrown down and she noticed the present that was tucked partially under the table.

“There was a present on the floor.” She declared and lifted it up and placed it on the table with the final two gifts.

It was clear she knew that it was from Bilbo and they all watched as stared at it with covetous eyes.

The two remaining Hobbits whose numbers had been before Lobelia didn’t even bother trying to take the gift and Lobelia was able to snatch it up without hesitation.

Everyone remained for a while, the faunts opening the gifts they had selected and finding treats, toys or ribbons inside the paper and swapping them with each other for the ones they actually wanted. The adults however were more restrained, and some tucked their gifts away to open when they got home.

Lobelia demonstrated none of this restrain and ripped into the present, her nails clawing at the ribbon as she fumbled with the bow it was tied in.

“Oooo!” Lobelia cooed at the box. She stroked her fingers over it and Bilbo snorted into his tankard. It seemed Lobelia could be taken in by Second Age elf work. She opened it and grinned in delight at the sight that lay before her.

Bilbo and Nori watched with delight as she showed off her present. Soaps. That was what she had received. Soaps in different colours which Nori had carved into shapes and patterns. Flowers, animals and twisting patterns lay nestled in soft cloth. Each soap smelt differently and there was little handwritten note tucked beneath each that described its scent.

Nori and Bilbo looked at each other from across the room and Bilbo was forced to hide his face as Nori gestured rudely. Tomorrow would be interesting.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Bilbo’s prediction was indeed true. The following day the gossip and rumours racing around Hobbiton (and spreading further afield) were all discussing the state of Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins.

“Oh, you should have seen it!” Bell Gamgee groaned and wiped tears from her cheeks. “They both appeared in the market, going to get Otho’s presents from the tailor, and they both looked so humiliated!”

Bilbo poured her another cup of tea and passed a glass of whisky to Nori who was lounging on the floor next to Bilbo’s armchair. He sank back into his own armchair and grinned happily.

“I don’t know who looked worse,” Bell had to pause to fight back another fit of giggles. “Otho was chartreuse Bilbo, chartreuse!! And Lob-Lobe-Lob…”

They both began giggling and Nori watched in delight as tears streamed down their cheeks.

“She was puce!” Bell finally stuttered out.

“Nothing goes with chartreuse or puce! Or at least nothing they own.” Bilbo sputtered and used his handkerchief to wipe his cheeks, handing his spare to Bell who took it gratefully.

“I know! I don’t imagine we’ll be seeing them again until the colour fades. It was all their skin though. Only the hair on their heads and their feet had escaped but even their hair was tinged. It’ll take multiple baths to wash all that out. Plenty of soap too.”

Bilbo burst into laughter again and Nori joined in this time. Bell watched in bewildered amusement.

“Something I said?”

Nori tossed back his whisky and reached for the decanter, he had earned another glass and he was officially on holiday now having avenged Bilbo and protected the honour of Fili and the Company, before answering Bell.

“If they use the soap they won in the White Oliphant game then they’ll turn another colour.”

“You didn’t?!” Bell gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to hide the smile spreading across her face.

“We did!” Bilbo chortled and sipped his tea. His throat hurt from laughing that much.

“How long will it last?”

Nori scratched his large nose and winked at Bell.

“Couple a weeks. Depends how much they wash and whether or not they use the same soap or try a different one. If they use the same one, it’ll last much longer and if it’s a different soap it’ll be a different colour- so they could end up being multicoloured.”

Bilbo saw Nori reaching for the plate of biscuits and handed it down to the Dwarven Thief. He had earnt them. Nori’s trick and desire to avenge Bilbo, even from such a thing as gossip (which could be so harmful. Isn’t it sad that words can cause so much damage?) made Bilbo’s heart swell with love and admiration for the criminal Dwarf.

“Thank you, Nori.” Bilbo murmured.

Nori didn’t respond but Bilbo knew he had heard.

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. 
> 
> Leave me a comment! 
> 
> Hopefully it won't be two weeks before I update but I make no promises. Next chapter is Balin's!


	11. Balin and Culpability and Conviction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin has some feelings and makes some gingerbread. Bad news comes to Hobbiton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies!  
> Have a chapter as I've almost completed my assignments, only a few hundred words on each left to write. Thank you for the encouragement and for all the kudos, comments and subscriptions!  
> Enjoy the chapter!

 

* * *

Balin was feeling guilty. It was not a feeling or emotion that I was familiar with. He tried not to worry over decisions he made, comments he said or deeds he did but there were a few moments in his life where guilt had niggled and gnawed at him.

He’d felt guilty when Thorin, a young Dwarf Prince whose grandfather was mourning the loss of Erebor, his father mourning the loss of his One (Thorin’s mother) and caring for his younger sister who had just come of age, was forced to lead their entire people across many lands. Balin had felt guilty because he had not been able to do more for the young prince, only offer options and repetitive words that Thorin was doing well, that he was leading them, that Thrain and Thror would be themselves soon and Thorin would be able to concentrate on caring for Dis who was feeling the loss of her mother deeply. Words that as they travelled felt hollower and emptier when, no matter how many Men Balin spoke with, their people began to starve. Guilt had wormed its way into Balin when he saw Thorin handing over his portion of food to other Dwarves, when he saw Thorin grow thinner and once when Thorin handed his food to Balin.

Balin had also felt guilty for not being more open when the Company arrived in Rivendell and he found he had lost his rationality and tried to prevent Thorin from showing the map to Elrond. He felt guiltier after when he accidentally let slip that they intended to travel to Erebor. The look on Elrond’s face had caused a pang of guilt to burn in Balin’s chest.

There were a few other occasions that Balin had felt guilty; for doubting Bilbo (even when all the Company, save for Gandalf, was doubting the Hobbit), for not listening to Gandalf’s warnings about the mountain and the gold, for succumbing to the Gold Sickness, for letting Thorin send Bard away without the money they had promised to the people of Lake Town, for not standing up to Thorin, for not thinking beyond guarding the gold in the mountain and for not protecting his King and Princes.

It had taken some time but Balin had gradually come to terms with those things that had caused him to feel guilt. He had personally spoken with and begged Bard’s forgiveness and had even reached out a diplomatic hand (metaphorically of course) on Thorin’s behalf whilst the King was unconscious, to Thranduil and the Mirkwood realm. From those interactions an alliance had begun to form. It was tentative at best but Balin was hopeful that they would be able to stop any further altercations between Men, Dwarves and Elves and provide a united front if tragedy were to befall the East once more.

The Gold Sickness had been something all the Company had to deal with and Balin had dealt with his guilt over it by arranging for Men to come from Dale and to sort the gold and melt it all down. The forges, still burning from the dragon’s fire, were hot enough to melt the gold and burn away the sickness. Balin had also asked Gandalf to do what he could and so the wizard had placed some sort of spell over the horde.

The Men of Dale who had been melting down the gold were paid for their work and the gold coins which they were melting were recast and used to pay the survivors from Lake Town. The gems Thranduil had requested to be returned to him were given back, Balin had handed them over himself. As the horde diminished or was recast and returned to its proper function, items to be sold, used and traded, the sickness that lay over it weakened and gradually the Dwarves residing in the Mountain no longer felt it’s pull.

The other things Balin felt guilty about abated over time but there was one thing that had resurged since their arrival in the Shire.

Balin had not realised Bilbo believed Thorin and the boys to be dead. When he found out, when little Frodo who was so protective of his Uncle let it slip, Balin felt a surge of overwhelming guilt.

The time immediately after the Battle had been confusing, overwhelming, stressful but Balin should have paid more attention to Bilbo. He had not been there when Thorin, Fili and Kili were retrieved from Ravenhill but had been organising groups with Lord Dain to go after the last stragglers or Orcs and ensure that Erebor and it’s surrounding lands would be safe. He had found out later that Thorin and his nephews had been grievously injured and taken into the mountain with Oin and several other members of the Company so that Oin could treat their wounds.

Balin had ventured into the halls of healing and discovered that Oin had done his best but the King and the Princes would be better off deep in the darkest halls of the mountain, as close to their creator as possible, in the Halls of Abiding where they would be close to Aule and hopefully their creator would save the line of Durin from departing the world so soon.

Oin had told Balin that there was hope, that the wounds – whilst horrible and gruesome – could be healed with time, care and attention and with rest in the Halls of Abiding. The Company healer had also warned that whilst their bodies might heal physically in a fairly short space of time their minds and souls would take longer, a long sleep would heal much and thus the Halls of Abiding was where the boys and Thorin were taken.

Balin had only been in the Halls of Abiding once before, when his own father had been injured and slept for many months. The Halls of Abiding were at the deepest point of the mountain and so closest to Aule. They were also dark but warm and dry and provided a safe place for Dwarves who were greatly injured to sleep long sleeps, like the Dwarves had when Aule was forced to give up his creations to Iluvatar.

Balin had seen his King and Princes safely carried down to rest in the Halls of Abiding and set up guard rotation with Dwalin and the other members of the Company who could be spared from the clean up of the battle before returning to the surface.

It was whilst searching the battlefield for Dwarrow, Elf and Human bodies that Balin had met with Bilbo. Their Hobbit had been pale, dirtied and staggering over orc corpses. A dark trickle of dried blood had run down Bilbo’s face from beyond his hair line to his jaw. The Hobbit’s eyes were dull, and he had twitched his head frequently as if shaking off something.

“Bilbo!” Balin had called out and the Hobbit had stared over at him with muddled confusion.

“Bilbo, I am glad you made it out of the battle. Are you badly injured?” Balin had met with Bilbo and looked over the smaller male with concern. There had been no other visible signs of injury and whilst he moved in a weakened state there were no signs of broken bones or other injuries and so Balin heaved a sigh of relief.

“Thorin…” Bilbo murmured. “There were Dwarves… They came to Ravenhill… They took him and Fili and Kili away.”

Balin had sighed.

“They have been taken into Erebor. They were grievously wounded and so have been taken to the… hmm what is an appropriate translation, Halls of Abiding. There they will remain in rest.”

Bilbo’s expression had not changed and Balin had been concerned and opened his mouth to try and encourage Bilbo to return to Erebor with him, but Lord Dain had called out and commanded Balin’s attention. When he turned back to where Bilbo had been standing, the Hobbit was gone. Vanished into thin air. Not a sign of him in any direction.

Later Balin would learn that, that was the last time any Dwarf saw their Hobbit. Bilbo never returned to Erebor and the Company believed it was because he believed Thorin was still angry with him and that his banishment still held.

When Balin arrived at Hobbiton and found that Bilbo believed Thorin, Fili and Kili dead a great feeling of guilt flooded the old Dwarf and he spent some time wondering about how best to apologise to Bilbo.

The busy days and mischievous faunts had made it hard for Balin to find a moment alone with Bilbo to apologise but it seemed that finally he might have an opportunity to seek Bilbo’s forgiveness.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

It had been a busy few days in Bag End but it all seemed to be calming down a bit. The Company had all been warned by Bilbo that today would be the final day of market before Hobbiton slowed down completely. Tomorrow everyone would stay in their smials and homes and prepare their food for the Yule festivities at their homes the following day.

Today however was when Hobbits could go to the market and get their last-minute presents and food.

Breakfast (both of them) had been a quiet affair and the Company had missed the presence of the fauntlings but enjoyed the soft conversation and ability to eat without having to worry about sticky hands winding their way into beards or braids.

The Company had since dispersed and gone their separate ways for the remainder of the day, some to their stalls in the market, others to ensure their people were settled and ready for the two days of celebration in their host families.

Balin and Oin had remained behind in Bag End with Bilbo and it was then that Balin found the opportunity to apologise to their Hobbit. And of course, they had their conversation over some gingerbread and some winter tea.

Bilbo had been in the kitchen tidying up after their second breakfast when Balin summoned up his courage and resolve and stepped into the large room.

“Bilbo…” He began but when the Hobbit looked up he found his words had escaped him and with a sigh of frustration he shook his head.

“Come and have a cup of tea Balin. You can help me make some gingerbread too. I find gingerbread is an excellent light treat for Yule. I’m afraid Oin has said I must keep the bandages on until this evening, but I should have full use of my hands for tomorrow. And a good thing too as our Yule meal will require a lot of preparation. All fourteen members of our Company and Bombur and Gloin’s families are joining us. It’s going to be quite a squeeze getting everyone in. I was thinking of possibly having the tables brought out into the hallway, Bag End was designed for a large family but certainly not to accommodate more than twenty Dwarves and one Hobbit!”

Bilbo kept up a steady stream of chatter as he boiled water in the kettle over the fire and gathered a teapot and some cups. Balin found himself standing at the sink washing his hands thoroughly and rolling his sleeves up out of the way.

“Could you get me the ingredients from the pantry across the hall?” Bilbo pointed to a page in a book which he had laid out on the kitchen table before turning his attention back to the tea.

Balin couldn’t tell exactly what was going into the teapot but the variety of spices and ingredients combined smelt quite rich and tickled his nose.

He read the page of ingredients and obediently went into the pantry, pulling out labelled pots, jars and packets of ingredients.

Bilbo shook his head fondly and smiled at Balin’s earnest expression as he sought out the ingredients and carefully returned to the kitchen with each one. He knew something had been weighing on the Dwarf’s mind. He had seen it every time he met Balin’s eyes. There was a sadness there that made the Dwarf seem even older and wearier than the first time Bilbo had met him.

Hopefully a cup of Bilbo’s winter tea; tea leaves mixed with raisins, almonds, thistle, cornflower, dried apple pieces, lemon peel, cloves and cardamom would raise Balin’s spirits. And making gingerbread could be highly therapeutic with the addition of the ingredients and then forming it into shapes to bake in the oven.

Balin finally brought the last ingredient over, dried currants, and then gratefully received the delicate tea cup that Bilbo handed to him. A few sips and some of the tension that had been filling Balin’s body seemed to ease and he sighed heavily before swallowing some more. Bilbo grinned to himself before beginning to gather up bowls and metal trays and checking that the fire was at the best temperature for baking in the hearth oven.

“Right Balin, I will need you to follow the instructions and do the main handling. Oin would not be pleased if I got my bandages dirty.”

“Indeed, he would not.” Oin’s voice called out from the adjoining parlour and Bilbo and Balin chuckled.

“Would you care for some tea Oin?” Bilbo called.

The healer peered in the doorway and sniffed. He accepted the cup of tea and looked at Bilbo with narrowed eyes. Bilbo held his bandaged hands well away from the table covered in ingredients and smiled innocently.

Satisfied Oin sniffed haughtily and left, not after grabbing several mince pies from the plate on the sideboard.

“They were for afternoon tea!” Bilbo yelped but Oin carried on through the parlour to sit back down in an armchair by the fire.

“I always find it amusing when his hearing seems to have improved, as if by magic, yet at other times he is quite deaf.” Balin said drolly.

“Hmm,” grumbled Bilbo and frustratedly slurped his tea. “There won’t be any mince pies for him this afternoon.”

“You’ll forgive him by then.” Balin advised. “Remember he’s the one who makes the verdict on whether your hands are unbandaged this evening.”

The Hobbit scowled and made noises of agreement.

“Now what exactly am I doing here Bilbo.” Balin asked and gestured with raised eyebrows to the table.

“We are making gingerbread. Just read the instructions, they’re numbered, and I’ll advise you as to exactly what to do at each stage.”

Balin began following the recipe, carefully heating butter, sugar and a thick substance Bilbo called golden syrup. As he stirred Bilbo leaned over and chattered on about the festivities that they would be having in two days’ time and of the prayer offerings the Hobbits would be making later to Yavanna.

Balin asked many questions about the Hobbits religion and Bilbo happily spoke of how the Hobbits gave thanks to Yavanna at the return of spring and asked her to bless them with good harvests in the autumn and prayed to her for a kind winter and for the Shire to be safe from destruction.

The two discussed some of the more well-know or perpetrated facts about Dwarves, the rumours and whispers that Bilbo had heard about before and after meeting the Company as Balin beat an egg and added it to the mixture.

They sat and drank some more tea for a while as the dough rested in a bowl on the window ledge outside the kitchen in the cold of the snow.

It was only when Balin had rolled out and cut the dough a couple of times that his resolve finally strengthened, and he found himself able to begin trying to apologise to Bilbo.

“I find I owe you an apology Bilbo.”

“What for?” Bilbo asked neutrally. He had been unable to resist helping and was now placing currants on the designs Balin was cutting from the dough. Dwarven style stars and other shapes were not the usual forms for gingerbread but Bilbo quite liked how he was able to add currants to enhance them.

“For causing you so much grief, stress and worry. I learned that I was the last of our Company to see you before you – returned to the Shire. And I believed you did not feel safe or welcome in Erebor and so returned to the Shire without saying farewell. When we arrived here, we came to see that you were well, among other reasons, and I personally came to apologise for not making sure you had rested and were well and that you would know you were always welcome within Erebor.”

Balin spoke slowly but steadily. Every word had been chosen carefully and his sentences were clear. He did not want Bilbo to misunderstand, he did not want to cause another misunderstanding, especially if that misunderstanding would inflict more pain and suffering upon the Hobbit.

Bilbo carried on adding currants to the gingerbread, allowing Balin time to string together his thoughts.

“It has become clear to me that you do not leave Erebor entirely willingly. That you were forced from Erebor by some unknown Dwarf who led you to believe that Thorin, Fili and Kili were…”

“Dead.” Bilbo’s voice was calm, matter of fact, untouched by grief.

“Yes. That you believed them to be dead. I would like to apologise for my part in this. I realise that even if my conversation with you was before or after you were misled, my words could have been lost in translation.”

“It was after.” Bilbo murmured softly, as if the words had sprung unbidden from his lips and he didn’t even notice them slip out.

Balin made a note of this, Thorin would not be happy to know that some Dwarf from Dain’s forces had led Bilbo to believe him dead. Balin wasn’t happy either although he knew they would be unlikely to ever find the perpetrator.

“Well, I realise that my words could have led you to believe that the boys had passed. They were not, but instead were taken deep into the mountains to the Halls of Abiding, the most guarded and secure inner sanctum where Dwarves can be close to Aule. I cannot tell you more as that would be breaking laws and I’m already bending them as it is,” Balin chuckled dryly and Bilbo snickered. “But as I helped teach Thorin those laws I am well aware of how to bend them myself.”

“And here I was led to believe you were one of the Dwarves most concerned with upholding Dwarven law.” Bilbo teased.

“Aye, I am. But I have come to realise that sometimes one must bend the law if one is to hold true to one’s values and beliefs. And thus, Bilbo Baggins, I must apologise. Apologise for not explaining more clearly, for not leading you back to the mountain, for not telling you that the boys and Thorin lived. I am truly sorry Bilbo. It has caused me great guilt and sorrow for my part in your departure.”

Bilbo reached over to where Balin’s hands were hovering over the dough, trembling slightly. The Hobbit closed his hand over the back of one of Balin’s and squeezed gently. Balin looked up, sorrow and sadness on his face.

“There is no need to ask my forgiveness Balin. I do not blame you. If I had been well myself, I might have found my courage to go back to Erebor even if I did believe them dead. The Dwarf who told me they were dead holds most of the blame. If you feel you truly need me to forgive you then of course I do Balin, but know that I have never blamed you.”

Balin sighed and slumped down onto the bench behind him.

“It does an old Dwarf some good to hear that you forgive me.”

“Now you must forgive yourself.” Bilbo said wisely. “And carry on cutting the dough. The gingerbread biscuits that are in the oven will be done soon and we can put another tray in the oven.”

Balin chuckled and rose back up to begin doing as the Hobbit bid. He knew it was unwise to come between a Hobbit and food and he would not dare doubt Bilbo’s resolve.

“Of course, Bilbo. I would not dare refuse you. Especially as one day you could be giving me commands.”

Bilbo frowned and looked at Balin confusedly.

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Well I have eyes Bilbo. I have seen how you look at Thorin.” Balin said with a chuckled and a raised brow.

Bilbo spluttered and flushed bright red. Balin roared with laughter and carried on cutting the gingerbread as he was bidden.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

After lunch, when a few of the Company had returned to Bag End and joined Bilbo, Balin and Oin for the midday meal, they all travelled down to the market and the frozen pond where the Hobbits were ice skating.

Thorin and his nephews had once again joined them and were going around the market as Bilbo’s over eager pack mules. Bilbo had made a list that morning with Bombur of the dishes they would be making for the Yule meal, a mix of Hobbit and Dwarven food, and as there would be more than twenty of them Bilbo needed to buy in extra provisions to feed more mouths than the current amount of food in his three pantries.

Gloin and Balin had decided to follow after the Hobbit and his Dwarven beasts of burden. They were both thoroughly entertained with the way Thorin was acting as he kept himself between Fili and Bilbo. It seemed although he accepted Fili’s apology their King was taking no more chances of loosing out on kisses from Bilbo, accidental or intentional.

They finished their shopping fairly quickly when the rest of the Company joined up with them. Bombur had been pleased to report that Gimli and SIbit had found Frodo and the other faunts and the little group had been getting ready to go ice skating on the pond. Gimli had puffed up with pride at his Gimli being such a good child minder that the faunt’s parents had agreed to leave their children with him.

“Before we return to Bag End we must go to the Party Field.” Bilbo said decisively and none of the Dwarves dared disagree. They plodded after Bilbo, some carrying vegetables, some carrying carefully packed boxes of spices and herbs, Kili and Fili even had a brace of pheasants and rabbits carefully draped over their backs.

Bilbo led them past the Party Tree and towards the very edge of the field. As they neared the edge of the field the Dwarves noticed stones, some taller than Hobbits, others about the height of a medium sized Hobbit, arranged in a stone circle about 30 Dwarf feet in diameter. The stones were not directly next to each other but there was space between them wide enough for even the most rotund Hobbits to squeeze through.

Other Hobbits were sitting or kneeling in the stone circle with their eyes closed but their mouths opening silently as they prayed. There were children there, young faunts who were imitating their parents, some possibly for the first time and the Dwarves watched with fond amusement as some of them opened their eyes and peeked up at their parents faces to check what they were doing was right.

“Are you going to pray Bilbo?” Thorin said softly, his voice rumbling as he tried to keep from being too loud.

“We always pray to Yavanna on this day. We ask her for a kind winter, to give food to those who do not have enough, to have all her plants rest well and grow healthily when spring comes and for her to feel our love for her creations.” Bilbo replied, and he stepped into the circle a few paces and dropped to his knees gently.

The Company glanced between each other, unsure of what to do. It felt uncomfortable to be standing watching Bilbo and other Hobbits praying.

Rolling his eyes Balin nudged Thorin.

“Ask him if we could join him? Maybe we could pray to Yavanna and Aule?”

Thorin inhaled deeply before stepping over the boundary and coming to crouch next to Bilbo. The Company watched as they conversed quietly before Thorin looked up and nodded. They gently set down the food and purchases and respectfully joined Bilbo.

“Bilbo has said that we can join and pray to Yavanna or Aule.” Thorin rumbled and then took his own prayer position and closed his eyes.

For a long time, there was silence, they could hear the echo of noise from the frozen water nearby as Hobbits and Dwarves ice skated and from beyond the chatter and calls of the market but in their immediate vicinity it was quiet, only the crunching of snow as Hobbits left the stone circle.

Finally, they all finished up their prayers and one by one stood and quietly left the circle to reclaim their shopping and move to the opposite edge of the field to leave the others to pray.

Balin was almost the last to leave and he turned to see Bilbo and Thorin finishing their prayers. He paused and watched with bated breath as Thorin stood and majestically brushed snow off his fur coat before holding a hand out and assisting Bilbo in standing. The pair stood close together, front to front, Bilbo staring up at Thorin’s face and Thorin still tenderly holding Bilbo’s hand.

Their faces got closer and closer and Balin was almost certain that they would, that the kiss would happen, the kiss that they had all been waiting for since their arrival in the Shire would happen. That Thorin would finally act on his feelings.

Unfortunately, it was not to be as a Hobbit rushed past Balin and bustled straight over to Bilbo calling out their Hobbits name as he went.

Balin groaned and heard from behind him a collective noise of groans, sounds of frustration and curses in Khuzdul.

Bilbo sprang away from Thorin and blushing looked down at the snow and straightened his coat even though it was perfectly straight. Thorin mean while stepped away too and rubbed the back of his head with one hand and looked up at the sky.

The Hobbit that had interrupted the pair was different to the usual sort that Balin had seen around Hobbiton. It was a male Hobbit, wearing dark clothing in shades of brown and green and he was slimmer than the typical Hobbits. Balin narrowed his eyes. There was also a truncheon hanging from his waist that just poked out from beneath his coat.

“Trouble brewing brother?” Dwalin’s voice growled out behind.

“Maybe.” Balin murmured before moving toward them. Before he got many steps however Bilbo came rushing towards them and crashed straight into Balin. “Frodo! The children?! Where are the children?!” Bilbo said frantically. Balin moved aside and let the Hobbit pass as did the rest of the Company. They trotted after him as he rushed back to the market, moving faster than they had seen him do so before.

The Hobbits in the market watched as Bilbo scanned the crowd worriedly. Some looked concerned but most dismissed it as yet another sign of Mad Baggins being crazy. Thorin shoved his way through the Company towards their Hobbit and it was a sign of Bilbo’s worry that he didn’t spin around and reprimand them when they swore loudly in Westron at their King in front of now indignant Hobbits.

“Bilbo!” Thorin said worriedly and grabbed their Hobbit by the shoulder and spun him around to stare into his eyes. One of his large calloused hands came up to cup Bilbo’s face when the Dwarf King saw how disorientated and confused and worried Bilbo truly was. The Hobbit’s green eyes were glazed and his pupils tiny pinpoints dilated in fear.

“Bilbo.” Thorin said softly and stroked the Hobbit’s cheek tenderly with his thumb. It was cold out but Bilbo’s skin seemed colder than just the chill wind or the snow. It felt like the blasting ice on Ravenhill, the harsh wind that had swept across the frozen waterfall and up the tower that had long since decayed.

“Talk to us.”

Gloin stepped closer. The other members of the Company had noticed their King and Hobbit’s interactions and some of the more seasoned Dwarves noticed the battle-like stance Gloin had taken before them.

Dwalin and Balin exchanged glances across the heads of the many Hobbits before slowly making their way towards Thorin. Soon almost the entire Company were encircling their King and Hobbit with Dwalin staring out of the circle at the nosy Hobbits, warning them neither to interfere or meddle nor to begin gossiping.

The Hobbit who had interrupted Thorin and Bilbo pushed his way through the Dwarves, ignoring their growls to stand beside Bilbo.

“Master Baggins, the Thrain needs you to pass the word around Hobbiton. Master Baggins?”

“Its frozen. The Brandywine is frozen. It can’t be frozen.” Bilbo muttered still frantic but his breath easing slightly.

“What is the problem with a little river freezing over Bilbo?” Balin asked calmly.

“The Brandywine isn’t a little river.” Bilbo said with a weak chuckle. Thorin seemed relieved when Bilbo’s eyes cleared up and he looked around at the assembled Dwarves fondly. “Where are the children?”

“No need to worry Bilbo,” Gloin said reassuringly. “My boy is with them. Gimli won’t let them out of his sight. He’s used to looking after Bombur’s young ones by now.”

Bombur nodded and handed Bilbo a piece of chocolate. The Hobbit took it and ate it without even registering what it was.

“Is Gimli armed?”

The Company reacted in various states of shock and worry at their normally violence abhorring Hobbit enquiring about weaponry. Fili and Kili nudged each other before slipping from the circle and winding their way through the milling Hobbits. Thorin watched his nephews go but was satisfied that they weren’t going to cause harm or worry.

“Why does Gimli need to be armed?” Gloin asked worried now about not only the faunts and Sibit but also his own dear son’s wellbeing.

“Fell Winter. Brandywine River. It’s frozen once before. Before my coming of age. It had been a lean year before hand for some strange reason and so there was less food around than normal. The Brandywine froze during a particularly heavy winter. Gandalf and some of the Rangers had managed to bring provisions to us and we were able to ration them fairly well but it wasn’t an unending source of food. Hobbits began to venture further afield in search of food. That was when the first disappearances began.

Hobbits that had gone to find food simply didn’t come back. Only one or two, then whole groups went missing. We retreated back to our homes and towns, sharing what food we could make or find. Then the white wolves came and the orcs from the mountains. They came through in hunting groups, united and starving. We fought but many Hobbits fell under the onslaught and continuous fear.

We were only saved when the Rangers and Gandalf returned but it was still a slaughter. Hobbits aren’t fighters. You know how poor my fighting skills were when I joined your Company and back then there hadn’t been need for Hobbits to take up arms for centuries. We lost many Hobbits and the Rangers numbers were diminished too. We recovered our numbers but the Rangers who guard the Shire still remain few and far spread out. If this is to be another Fell Winter… I lost my father to the Fell Winter. I won’t lose anyone else.”

Bilbo furrowed his brow and looked markedly at each and every Dwarf. They had equal looks of resolve and Bilbo felt his heart swell with love and appreciation for the Dwarves who would not abandon him (at least not yet, shut up Bilbo).

“Master Baggins can I ask if you will make sure Hobbiton is aware?” The Bounder Hobbit asked.

“You can Bounder Hornwood. The Dwarves must be warned too.”

The Bounder nodded. “I must return to Tookborough. The Thain is speaking with the Mayor of Michel Delving. The Shiriffs and Bounders have been asked to increase the patrols. If any of the Dwarves wish to join patrols, then they would be most welcome. We will be meeting at Took Hall to organise a rota.”

Bounder Hornwood nodded once to Bilbo, who nodded back a look of resolve on his face, and then to Thorin. Once he had finished, he pushed his way back through the Company and disappeared into the bustle of the market.

“Well then,” Thorin began and he suddenly looked very kingly. He shouted out something in Khuzdul and the various Dwarves who were arranged around the market or mingling with their Hobbit hosts looked up and found their King. Another few words in Khuzdul and they began to move within the groups of Hobbits or rummaging around beneath their stalls. Weapons sprang up from beneath covered tables or from behind blankets.

Fierce looking Dwarrows called their children back and guided them to a circle that had been formed out of straw bales that had been covered with blankets and rugs. A tent had been erected with a little stage and it was at the perfect height for little Dwarflings and fauntlings to watch.

“Balin.” Thorin said his attention now back on the Company and on securing the safety of everyone in Hobbiton at the very least. “Go and speak to the Thain. See if you can gather more information and ideas of what he thinks to do to safeguard Hobbiton and if possible the Shire.”

“Right.” Balin said and drew his deep red coat around him before moving after the Bounder. By now the message the Bounder had brought had spread amongst the Hobbits and mothers and fathers were gathering their children or rushing home to collect some sort of makeshift weapon.

“Bofur, Bifur, Bombur and Ori: I want you to gather the fauntlings and Dwarflings and keep them occupied. We don’t want the children getting upset and inciting panic in the parents. Do whatever you want to keep them entertained and let any parents who want to stay with their children do so.”

The three Ur Dwarves and Ori exchanged looks and brief words before wading off and speaking with Hobbit mothers and fathers telling them of a show that was going to be put on for the children in a few minutes. A few kind words had some of the more worried parents at ease and bringing their children over to where the Dwarflings were already sat and mumbling to each other in Khuzdul.

Thorin carried on barking out orders.

“Fili, Kili, Dwalin. Ask around, see if any of the Dwarves would be willing to join the Bounders and Shiriffs on patrols. If you can find any then follow after Balin to Took Hall.”

His three most trusted warriors saluted their King before rushing off to do as he bid.

“Dori, check with our people. Make sure all have a residence to stay in for the next few days. I don’t want any of our people sleeping in the fields alone or even in small groups. Hobbit walls, although they aren’t a mountain, are far more defensible than a tent or a wagon in a field. Tell them the Crown will reimburse them for money if they have to spend it on a room in a smial or home.”

Dori nodded and moved calmly amongst the milling Hobbits and Dwarves, speaking with Dwarves who had gathered in clumps, weapons held at the ready.

Gloin and Oin had remained with Thorin, as had Nori and they waited almost eagerly for their orders. Bilbo was amused to see that all of them had dropped their food parcels and packages down and he knew he would need to borrow a wheelbarrow or three to cart it all back up the Hill to Bag End.

“Oin, visit the local healer. Take inventory of herbs and resources they have. Make sure we have enough for Dwarves and Hobbits, if the Shire is attacked then you can expect injuries from wolves and orcs. Gloin, I want you to stay with Bilbo. Make sure he gets back to Bag End and that he has Sting and his armour. Then I want you to survey Bag End, make sure we know its weak points.”

Bilbo spluttered and tried to interrupt but Thorin was no longer just his friend, but the King. A King who needed to protect his people and his friend’s people.

“Come on Bilbo.” Gloin gently guided the Hobbit towards their shopping. He called out to a Dwarf standing nearby and soon there was a small cart with a tiny pony pulling it crunching through the snow towards them being led by the Dwarf.

“Let’s load up.” Gloin instructed and began loading up the cart. The tiny pony was one Bilbo had never seen before. It was smaller than a Hobbit and incredibly shaggy. It did look like a potential Hobbit pony however as it had an extremely rounded belly and little legs.

Gloin wasted no time in loading the cart and was done in mere minutes. He grabbed the lead rope from the Dwarf and they had a quick conversation in Khuzdul before Bilbo was forced to trot after Gloin. He had to go as Gloin would be unable to get into Bag End.

“What about the faunts? Gimli?” Bilbo panted as he tried to keep up with Gloin’s long strides. From somewhere Gloin had produced an axe and he held it loosely in his right hand whilst his left kept the pony from veering off towards tufts of grass poking out from beneath the snow.

“I imagine Thorin has already sent Nori to guard them. Or if not, Nori it’ll be one of Nori’s proteges. He’s amassed quite a few of them you know. Dwarves loyal to Thorin and Erebor and good at sneaking. None quite as good as Nori though. You know Nori wanted to recruit you? If you’d stayed in Erebor your light Hobbit feet might have been recruited for spying purposes.”

“That would never have happened.” Bilbo grumbled.

Gloin shrugged.

“You never know. The future isn’t set in stone Bilbo.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you trying to distract me.”

“Thorin wants you to have your sword, well your letter opener, and your mithril armour. He will speak with the Thain and we will find out the level of threat and once that has been determined we can act. For now, let’s get you and Bag End prepared.”

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

It was late by the time Balin returned with Fili, Kili and Dwalin. Thorin had been with them at Took Hall for a while but their King had judged the situation well in hand and left to reassure and organise his people once the threat level had been decided.

Bilbo was waiting up for them when they returned, a small spread set out for them. Cold meats, buttered bread, a warm pot of chicken and mushroom soup and some gingerbread biscuits.

The four Dwarves fell upon the meal, ravenous as they hadn’t eaten since lunch. Bilbo sipped a cup of tea. Balin had noted that it wasn’t the winter tea but instead was rose tea, the dried rosebuds had swollen up in the water and were floating in the large mug.

“What news?” Bilbo eventually asked.

“Has Thorin returned yet?” Balin countered.

“No, he hasn’t.” Bilbo replied. “Nori was with him when he popped by earlier to say that they wouldn’t be back until later tonight.”

“Ah.” Balin pondered for a bit, deciding how best to deliver the news.

“Are you going to tell me? I have a right to know. The Thain is my grandfather and whilst I may be Mad Baggins I am still of his blood and when the Thain gives a message they listen.”

Balin exchanged looks with the others and saw Fili give a slow nod. In Thorin’s absence and without him stating that Balin was in charge command fell to Fili. By nodding Fili was given his permission and thus representing and speaking for Thorin in his absence.

“The Thain has received reports from the Bounders that the Brandywine has indeed frozen. They tested it and it is solid enough for Hobbits to walk upon, several walking across abreast.”

Bilbo sipped his tea.

“There aren’t concerns about food, however. You have had a good year this year for crops and harvests. Took Hall has stores of food. I am led to believe that was your mother’s idea after the Fell Winter.”

“It was. Her’s and Gandalf’s. In the event of another Fell Winter there will be enough food, if rationed out carefully, to feed every Hobbit in the Farthings. When combined with the stores in Michel Delving that is. So, the Thain isn’t too concerned?”

Balin slurped on his soup and munched on some bread. He really didn’t want to deliver this next bit of news.

“There are concerns about activity beyond the borders of the Shire.” Fili finally spoke.

Bilbo’s eyes snapped to the Prince’s and Fili put his spoon down and pushed his bowl away from him.

“Nori and his spies have heard from travellers on the roads beyond the Shire that it has been a harsher year in the northern lands. Orcs have been seen occasionally coming down from the north and stealing livestock.”

Bilbo was completely still. His fingers wrapped around the handle of his mug had gone white and his eyes were locked with Fili’s.

“The Thain and Mayor are worried that if the Brandywine remains frozen for too long then the orcs may venture West where they know there is food. The settlements of Men are too well fortified to raid but the Shire…”

“Is full of fat Hobbits who do not fight.” Bilbo said.

None of them made a noise.

Bilbo breathed in heavily.

“What is the plan?”

Balin took over here. He had been the one, along with his brother, to organise the patrols with the Shiriffs.

“Dwarves are going to join Bounders on their patrols and there are going to be staggered patrols. When one patrol leaves another will go half an hour after them. The times between patrols are also going to be changed frequently and the paths are not going to be the same every time. If orcs are watching they will have a hard time sneaking into the Shire if they cannot predict when a patrol will pass by.”

Bilbo didn’t look very well. Fili and Kili exchanged glances before standing up and beginning to clear the table. Balin and Dwalin knew that they were really moving around in case Bilbo collapsed, one of them might be able to dive forward quickly enough to catch the Hobbit.

“If the Brandywine stays frozen for too long then that could mean the Shire is vulnerable. We won’t know however if the weather will warm for a few days. But Nori has told us that there are no rumours or signs of orcs or wolves close to the Shire. We will be fine.”

Bilbo stared at Balin.

“You believe that?”

“I do Bilbo. I really do.”

The Dwarves held their breath.

“Very well, I will put my trust in you Balin. There are few people in this world that I would trust but you are definitely one of them.”

With Bilbo’s words Balin knew that he held something special, Bilbo’s trust and belief. Bilbo would never have given that to him if he truly believed Balin had caused him hurt.

The guilt that had eased when Bilbo forgave him earlier seemed to dissipate as Balin forgave himself and instead concentrated on what he now had and what was so much more important than guilt; Bilbo’s hope and trust.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Bilbo is slowly getting over his PTSD... Hopefully the Shire will remain safe!  
> I'm hoping to get the next chapter written up and posted soon. I'm having to rework the plot a bit as a new idea for chapter 14 came to me and I must do it!  
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter and story.


	12. Oin and Mitigating Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oin and Bilbo have a heart to heart conversation, or three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite an emotional chapter, at least from my point of view as I know how Oin felt. This wasn't where I intended this chapter to go but I found it really cathartic to write so please be kind in any comments you leave. 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks! I was so happy to see this fic had gone over 100 kudos so thanks to each and everyone of you.

* * *

Oin knew that some hurts, some wounds never healed. That often made his heart ache, especially when he saw it in a Dwarf’s eyes, the realisation that their wound would always grieve them, would pull on their body, would ache in cold weather. He could help ease those hurts however, and sometimes an ear and a cup of tea (or flagon of beer) could help.

The injuries Oin hated the most were the ones he couldn’t sew, bandage, put an Ointment on or even see. And he didn’t mean broken bones.

It was the wounds of the mind and the heart that could cause the greatest suffering. Oin had seen it, time and time again. A soul traumatised by something horrific they had seen or done and forced to relive that moment over and over and over. A Dwarf who had witnessed a loved one’s death and screamed and cried into the darkness of the night when all other souls lay sleeping as they were kept from slumber by their grief.

Oin had been there himself. On the brink as it were, staring into the abyss after a great loss. Not many in the Company knew but Oin had, had a One. A beautiful, vivacious Dwarrow. She’d had a beautiful golden beard and thick, glossy blonde hair. Her eyes had been a pale shade of blue, Oin learnt later that it was the pale blue of a frosty morning after waking early as one of the refugees from Erebor.

Their meeting had not been love at first sight, in fact she had been brought to Oin (who was a mid-level Healer at the time) with half of her beard singed off and burns on her fingers and face. She was a miner, one of the best in fact, but she could get distracted listening to the stones sing and had been too absorbed listening to the stones that she hadn’t moved away quickly enough from an area where they were blasting to open a new shaft. Luckily her wounds hadn’t been severe, some mild burns, but it was mainly her pride that had been singed.

Oin had been his usual charming self (aka not charming at all) and berated her the entire time he was cleaning out shards of stones and dirt from her burns and it was only once he had finished that she finally spoke back. And by Aule did she speak. Oin had never heard such gloriously filthy cusses and swears before and he had been struck still by her vibrancy. Despite her singed beard and the smell of powder and fire and her frankly filthy mouth, Oin had been transfixed.

She had stormed out of the Healing Hall without a single glance back at the rude and heartless Healer and that was when Oin began his pursuit of her. It took him 5 years for her to accept his apology, another 6 years of gifts and inviting her on dates before she would agree to courting and another 8 years of courting before they were eventually wed.

Oin could remember their wedding day clearly, it was one of the few days that hadn’t yet been devoured by his old mind or lost to the fogginess of time. She had been stunning, dressed like a true Ereborean Dwarrow and his final gift to her as an unwed Dwarrow had been hundreds of tiny silver bells. Tiny bells that he had spent hours with the silversmith arguing over the design and commissioning more if they didn’t sound right. Oin had wanted his beloved to be able to hear music even when she wasn’t in the mines, carry around the tiny bell-like song of the stones. It was a feeble imitation of course – nothing can rival a true song from the stone – but it was a gift given with love and time and knowledge and she had adored them.

In their twenty years of marriage, she only ever took them out to wash and re-braid her beard. The other miners gave her the nickname Bell Singer as they could always hear here in the mines, singing to the stones with her voice and her bells in her beard.

Oin couldn’t remember their last conversation. He sometimes worried it had been an argument, that he had left their home in a grumpy huff as he often did, that he hadn’t told her how much he loved her. That they had been arguing about something inconsequential or maybe it had been their newest grand topic for argumentation – whether they were ready to have children.

She had been ready, had spoken to him so many times, conversation after conversation about having their own children. She was ready, and she wanted what her other Dwarrow friends were starting to have, a family with their own wee bairns.

Oin hadn’t been certain he was ready though. He’d recently moved up in the ranks of Healers and was now one of a select few who worked directly for the Royal Family. He had been at the Crown Prince Consort’s side when the newest of the line of Durin was born, Dis just over thirty years earlier, and was the new personal healer to Thorin. It didn’t involve much work as Thorin was a capable warrior, despite not being of age yet but Oin had other duties that he had to carry out and was being given more and more opportunities.

That was something Oin would forever regret, putting his career over his beloved and their potential family. They had probably been speaking about it the day Smaug came. It was their typical morning conversation before they both separated to go to work. Oin couldn’t remember, could never remember what they had both said. Had they agreed to start trying for children? Had they agreed to wait? Had they agreed on anything or had they both left the conversation angry and frustrated and upset?

He never saw her again. She was one of the unlucky ones who never made it out of the mountain. Oin preferred not knowing how she had died. It was easier in a way, to think that maybe she had been down in the mines when Smaug attacked and been trapped behind stone that had fallen with the weight of the dragon’s joy in the treasury. She could be interred within the stone she had so loved and enjoyed singing with and too. He didn’t search the bodies, the ones they found in the rooms, mummified and preserved for nearly two centuries.

There were things Oin could remember about her, like her hair colour, her eye colour, her favourite drink, her favourite song, the food she hated the most, the bad habits she had but there were other things, that hadn’t seemed so important at the time, that he had long since forgotten. How she smelt when she came back from the mines, how she smelt after a bath, the sound of her voice, the sound of her laughter, what names she had wanted to give any potential children they had, the things she wanted most in the world, the feeling of her fingers wrapped around his, the press of her lips against his or against his skin.

Oin was unequivocally certain that this was one of the greatest wounds. Grief and forgetting. They left gashes, punctures, tears and trauma without a single blade entering the body. He could heal a body, but a mind, a soul and a heart were much harder.

When he lost his One, Oin had contemplated joining her. Leaving for the halls of their ancestors to wait by her side with Aule. He had sat there many a time, a bottle on the table in front of him, a blade unsheathed, a vial of herbs that could heal but too much and…

He had never been able to do it though. The thought of GlOin finding him always stopped him. And after a long, long, long time the hurt eased a little. The sadness lingered but it was not so sharp, not so acute. It was like it had been soothed somewhat, smoothed away like a pebble being rolled in the ocean until it was rounded and no longer held sharp edges. It never truly went away, the grief just changed. The forgetting was another matter but Oin found things that made the forgetting a little less horrifying. One of the events that made the forgetting a little less harsh was the birth of the Prince Fili and later Kili.

Both Princes had been delivered by Oin, who was the most senior Healer to escape Erebor. Later it was the birth of his nephew Gimli, a bright haired shouting babe who came into the world ready to take it on and Oin couldn’t help but feel warm and happy about his nephew who fought to come into the world after an incredibly long labour where he and his brother feared they would lose mother and child.

Oin had once heard some Men say ‘Time heals all wounds’ and he personally thought it was a mountain of shit. Time didn’t _heal_ all wounds. But Time could soothe them. Time could make things a little less dark and a lot brighter.

On the journey to Erebor Oin had noticed that Bilbo bore his own wounds, the ones Oin couldn’t heal. They were old wounds however and Bilbo didn’t act as if they were fresh or recent and so Oin didn’t worry overly so. He concerned himself more with the Hobbit’s seemingly fragile and impossibly vulnerable body.

He’d never treated a Hobbit before and, in comparison to Dwarves, Bilbo seemed to be injured in some way quite frequently. Oin had spent several nights grinding and pounding herbs together to make a bruise ointment for the Hobbit. The bruises would flourish overnight, the result of a small stumble or fall or being clapped too hard on the back by a fellow member of the Company.

Oin admired Bilbo though. The Hobbit never complained about his physical injuries but would merely submit to Oin’s checks after a skirmish or incident. Unlike the Dwarves whom Oin would have to literally sit on in order to treat them, Bilbo would sit patiently and wait for the Healer to finish his ministrations.

And unlike the rest of the Company Bilbo didn’t seem to have a death wish. This pleased Oin as occasionally Bilbo was able to prevent the others from becoming too severely injured or harmed. It freed Oin up to fulfilling his role as Thorin’s personal healer, especially as the Majestic Brooder was often injuring himself.

It was only later in their Quest, after Erebor had been reclaimed from Smaug that Oin began to grow concerned for the Hobbit’s mental injuries. There were physical hurts of course, Bilbo had burnt his hands and feet whilst fleeing from Smaug. His unprotected Hobbit feet had born the brunt of the heat and blistered awfully. Luckily Oin had stocked up on the necessary herbs and ingredients to create burn salves and ointments whilst in Lake Town and he could do what he did best – heal.

He noticed though that Bilbo began to grow thinner. The Hobbit had already lost weight since leaving the Shire, his seven meals a day reduced to three larger portions and a snack in the morning or afternoon if they could spare it had impacted on Bilbo’s waist. The thinness that started to show in Erebor was different. Bilbo’s skin began to grow paler, deep shadows under his eyes and the skin that bruised so easily was almost a myriad day after day as Bilbo obeyed like all of them and searched the treasures mounded in the Royal Treasury.

When Thorin held Bilbo over the edge of the barricade Oin had feared that if Thorin tightened his grip too much then he would snap Bilbo’s neck so easily. The King’s strength could oh so easily break the Hobbit’s bones with a finger and a thumb and the lack of padding would make it even easier.

Oin never saw Bilbo after that, not until they arrived in the Shire and they all saw that their Hobbit was unwell. He had regained some weight but still looked too thin compared to the other Hobbits in Hobbiton and his skin was still too pale. But what worried Oin the most was the fragile looks of hope and disbelief Bilbo kept showing as he glanced sneakily at Thorin, Fili and Kili.

Oin couldn’t imagine what it had been like for Bilbo, banished from Erebor without ever saying goodbye to the King he loved and knowing he could never return. Whilst Oin never got to say goodbye to his beloved, at least he had been able to return to their home and gain some closure and he had not been alone like the Hobbit.

The Healer made it his mission to try and find out exactly what had happened to Bilbo at the Battle. He of all the Dwarves would have some idea of how to ask and manage any situations or upset that arose from the conversation.

It wasn’t until bad news fell on the Shire that Oin found the right moment and time to have this conversation with Bilbo. And after their conversation, well, Oin would not be answerable for his actions against some Dwarves from the Iron Hills the next time they met.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

“That bloody stubborn dwarf!” Bilbo cursed as he heaved sacks into his third parlour. Gloin had accompanied him back to Bag End and unloaded the cart, much to the tiny pony’s relief, but had only left the shopping in the entrance way of Bag End.

Then Gloin had gone on to survey and assess Bag End. He had left Bilbo to curse and fume Thorin Oakenshield for his high-handedness and dismissal, and Bilbo was taking out his frustrations on the ingredients for the Yule Feast. There would be some bruised potatoes and Bilbo had ripped into a sack of flour with relish and upended it into his flour jar. It wasn’t the neatest organisation of his third pantry but it would do.

“Bilbo.” Oin’s voice rang out from behind him and Bilbo jumped in fright, one hand reaching for his waistcoat pocket and the other reaching for the hilt of Sting.

“Oin. Why are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Bilbo snapped out. Oin merely raised an eyebrow and watched as Bilbo wilted and blushed.

“Sorry Oin. I’m just a bit-”

“Frustrated?” Oin offered with a sarcastic smirk.

Bilbo chuckled and nodded. He finished emptying the mixed dried fruit into an earthen pot and sealed it with a cork plug. Gesturing to the sacks and paper bags scattered around the pantry floor and into the hallway Bilbo began picking them and collecting them with Oin’s help.

They moved on down the hallway, away from the third pantry, towards the kitchen.

“I’ll take a look at your hands if you’ve got a minute laddie?” Oin offered and Bilbo nodded eagerly.

Oin chuckled softly to himself as Bilbo seemed to light up somewhat and trotted on to his bedroom, after leaving the paper bags and sacks stacked in a basket for that specific purpose, and led Oin to the warmth and cosiness of his bedroom.

Oin had been in Bilbo’s bedroom several times since their arrival and stay at Bag End, on purely professional Healer visit of course, but every time he’d been in, he’d been struck by how comfy and cosy the Hobbit’s bedroom was.

Bilbo sat down on his bed, leaning slightly against one of the four pillars that held up the canopy and held the curtains back from around the bed. Oin had picked up his medical bag on route to Bilbo’s bedroom and used a bar of soap from it and washed his hands before beginning to untie and unravel the bandages slowly.

Bilbo sighed with relief at the bandages slowly being peeled away from his hands. It was such an inconvenience to have his hands so bandaged. Bandaged hands made even small tasks like doing up one’s shirt buttons troublesome and all the things Bilbo enjoyed doing such as writing his stories and books had been delayed as he couldn’t grip his quill and produce his usual elegant writing and never mind not being able to cook properly (a Hobbit unable to cook food was quite a terrible thing as you can probably imagine).

“Ah, they’re looking well.” Oin murmured as he finally pulled back the last scrap of muslin cloth that had been soaked and slathered with honey to reveal the diminished burns/

“So, what is your verdict?” Bilbo teased. “Will I ever be able to hold a normal sized knife and fork again? Or make a doily?”

There was another laugh from Oin and he raised an eyebrow at Bilbo’s seemingly sudden change of mood.

“Aye, I think you may be able to go back to your usual utensils. Fine doilies may need to wait for a bit, however. Your muscles and fingers will need some time to flex gently and you must take lots of breaks from activities so that you do not cramp your fingers and stress the burns. But I do believe the burns won’t scar and you should regain all movement and feeling if you follow your Healer’s orders.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything but obeying your orders Oin.” Bilbo said and he moved over to the bowl and jug on his washstand and began to wash away the excess honey that hadn’t come away with the muslin.

Oin waited and once Bilbo had patted his hands dry on a soft, fluffy towel, he motioned for Bilbo to take a seat on the bed once more.

“I’ve made up this oil which we can massage into your hands. It’s made from a plant that grows far to the east and it aids well in healing and preventing scars.”

The Dwarf poured a small portion out onto his palm and then rubbed it between them to warm it slightly. Bilbo held his hands out and Oin took one and carefully, gently, began to rub the smaller hand and fingers so that it was covered in oil before he began to gently massage it into Bilbo’s skin using his fingers. Oin was careful with his strength, tempering it and keeping an eye on Bilbo’s face to watch for signs of pain or discomfort.

“You alright there, laddie?” Oin checked in and Bilbo smiled almost sadly.

“I used to do this for my mother. After my father passed away my mother suffered from aches and pains and I used to massage her hands and wrists with lavender oil.”

“Ah, it can be a very tender thing between loved ones.” Oin murmured in his low gravelly voice. “But it can also be a sign of friendship and loyalty. I remember doing this for Thorin, Fili and Kili until they were well enough to do it for each other.”

Bilbo flinched suddenly and Oin held his breath for a moment, uncertain if he had caused a physical or verbal pain.

“I had assumed you were their Healer.” Bilbo finally said.

“Aye. I am the personal Healer to Thorin, Prince-in-Exile and I was the personal Healer to Dis, Fili and Kili. As much as the title meant anything when we lived in the Blue Mountains. The refugees from Erebor didn’t have many Healers. Part of the mountain where we tended to work was destroyed when Smaug came. I went where I was needed but my priorities were the line of Durin if it came down to a decision. That was unless Thorin could override me.”

“Did he often do that?”

Oin was pleased to hear that Bilbo seemed curious rather than frustrated or dismissive but also noted that Bilbo knew Thorin well enough that he knew the Dwarf Prince would have sent Oin to tend his people before tending to his Prince. It was a good sign.

“Aye, he would often command me to tend to others. It’s one of the reasons he has so many scars. By the time I’d tended to others he’d often tended to them himself or it had been too long already, and infection had begun to set in. I was always grateful when Dis was nearby as she could browbeat him into submission.”

“She’s probably the only person in Middle Earth who can get Thorin Oakenshield to do anything he doesn’t want to.” Bilbo sniped.  

Oin breathed in and out deeply.

“You have that power too laddie. You and his nephews and Dis. Probably the only people in Middle Earth that have power over Thorin. A King can’t be seen to be weak, and so he’ll listen to advice from his Company, but we probably can’t get him to do anything. You could command him though.”

“Unlikely.” Bilbo all but snarled.

Oin winced, this had not gone the way he had hoped but it wasn’t unexpected.

“You know I thought he was dead?” Bilbo looked away from Oin, staring at a point on the wall. Oin could see that Bilbo was no longer present and was in fact remembering the past.

“He was taken away and taken to Erebor and I was sent away. I was told he was dead. They sent me away. I was sent away as if I meant nothing, as if he wasn’t my friend. They sent me away and I thought he was dead.”

Oin deliberately breathed in and out slowly, exhaling and inhaling overly loudly and cupped both of Bilbo’s hands in his to keep them warm. It was always upsetting when people began to relive traumatic experiences. Oin knew how it felt, the panic that could consume you.

“Thorin came to his senses before he charged into battle like an idiot without a plan. He had rescinded his banishment and he wanted us to find you and bring you to Erebor. He wanted to apologise to you in person. He was not happy with us when he learned that none of us had seen you since the events on the wall after he woke. But Bilbo, we would have come sooner but Thorin was unconscious for many, many months.

Kili woke first and Fili woke a few weeks later but was confused and weary for a long time. They remained in the Halls of Healing with their Uncle and were by his side when he woke. As was I. His first words when he woke were of you. Asking for you.

I can only apologise that we never came after you and that I was too wrapped up in my duties to the fool hardy line of Durin to come and find you myself.”

Bilbo had calmed by the time Oin finished speaking and the only sign that he had experienced a terror attack was the slightest trembling in his hands which were still gently clasped between Oin’s. When he was certain that Bilbo was with him once more Oin let go with one hand and reached across Bilbo’s bed to drag a blanket across and drape it around the Hobbit’s thin shoulders. Bilbo sank gratefully into the warmth and allowed Oin to wrap him up until just his head and curls poked out from the top.

“There,” Oin murmured. “Snug as a pebble.”

Bilbo snorted slightly in amusement at being compared to a pebble. “We say snug as a bug in a rug.”

“Why would you want a bug to be snug?” Oin asked with a frown. “I thought you Hobbits wouldn’t want bugs near your vegetables?”

“Bugs used to mean ghosts. It’s just a saying now.” Bilbo said with a faint trace of amusement. The Hobbit’s face slowly moved to a more concerned and earnest expression.

“How bad were they? Thorin and Fili and Kili I mean?”

“Bad enough that Dain and Balin were prepared to rule the mountain in their stead until Dis could arrive and we had no idea when that would be. Some of the Dwarves from the Iron Hills tried to coerce me into declaring that they would never wake or survive their injuries so that Dain could claim rule of Erebor. Luckily, I’m not the weak Healer they thought I was, and Nori was nearby keeping watch over the King and Princes.

Dain was not pleased when he learned of some of his Lord’s actions. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of those same lords were the ones who dismissed you from Thorin’s side.”

“It was truly that bad?” Bilbo whispered. He looked haunted.

“Aye, it was.”

“I thought that he was dead and when I did dare to hope that he had survived that maybe he didn’t want me, I mean that he hadn’t forgiven me. It’s been a torment Oin.”

Tears trickled down Bilbo’s cheeks and Oin was relieved. He couldn’t recall seeing Bilbo cry and this release of tears and emotion would be a catharsis and hopefully a step forward in getting Bilbo better.

“You aren’t alone Bilbo. We’re here for you. Always. We can’t make up for not being there in the past, but we are here now.”

A sob burst past Bilbo’s lips and it was a strangled muted sound. A sound that had been made by the Hobbit before, the sound of someone who was used to keeping his pain and sorrow hidden.

“Och, laddie.” Oin moved onto the bed and sat beside Bilbo. Bilbo was still sobbing as Oin wrapped his arm around and brought the Hobbit into a warm friendly embrace. Oin didn’t speak but was there and was present and Bilbo nuzzled into the warmth of a friend and someone who cared.

There were few things more wonderful in the world, Bilbo thought, than the comfort of a friend.

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

Once Bilbo had finished crying, he went through several handkerchiefs – the plainer ones he kept in his bedside drawer, he and Oin moved to the kitchen and began to prepare some food for everyone’s return.

As they prepared the food, Bilbo vented. He told Oin of his return journey from Erebor, how Gandalf had accompanied him as far as the borders of the Shire, how he had found his smial ransacked, emptied and his belongings being sold as if his life and his parents life amounted to meagre coins being traded for items that held sentimental and emotional value. Bilbo’s voice softened as he told Oin of the reception he received once he had sorted his home and affairs in order. How his tenants were curt and brief and frustrated with his return when he requested payments or updates after leaving them unbeholden for over a year, how Hobbits in the market would whisper behind his back as he passed by, how they would forget he was there if he went down to the Green Dragon for a half pint and would talk loudly about ‘Mad Baggins’ and how only the fauntlings would approach him and talk to him properly but he would see their parents watching with a keen eye as if they thought he might snatch their children away.

Oin responded appropriately to each comment and sometimes delighted Bilbo with his dry sarcasm and wit and with vitriol on the moments when Bilbo’s honour and emotional wellbeing had obviously been harmed.

Bilbo broke out his rare whisky, a favoured drink of the North Tooks, and poured them each a dram into his special cut glasses. This was Bilbo’s favourite whisky, it evoked the northern hills of his less popular cousins and the moorlands his mother spoke of; the heather and briar stretching out in swathes of purples and whites.

Oin enjoyed the smoky taste and the smooth burn as it glided down his throat. He could get used to the Shire if they had whisky like this. Strangely enough Dwarven whisky, or at least the drink closest to it, was a lot richer and fuller and didn’t have a kick when it slid down. It was only one of a few things that Dwarves made that didn’t have too much of an attitude.

As the evening went on the Company trickled into Bag End in dribs and drabs and found Bilbo and Oin sequestered in a corner of Bag End’s sitting room, having had their dinner and moved onto their supper. Some winter-spiced biscuits and candied fruit and the whisky bottle.

After a brief interlude when Balin, Dwalin and the boys returned, and Bilbo did a little forgiving (he was even kind enough to give Balin a glass of whisky) Oin and Bilbo returned to consuming the bottle.

When Thorin finally returned to Bag End the rest of the Company were fast asleep in their rooms whilst Oin and Bilbo were giggling (manfully giggling of course) and snickering by the fire.

The Dwarf King slunk into Bag End as quietly as he could, toeing off his boots gratefully after standing on his feet for hours. He hung his voluminous winter coat off the single hook which had been left for him and rolled his shoulders. The tension he seemed to have present all the time always seeped away from him when he entered Bilbo’s home.

It smelt homely full of spices and plant life, was warm with both soft welcoming furnishes and a physical warmth and best of all Bilbo was there. Bilbo Baggins, Thorin’s saviour, the saviour of Erebor and potentially the most important person in Thorin’s life. If he could ever muster up the courage to say something.

When he moved through the dimly lit halls of Bag End towards the kitchen, where he knew there would be food left, there was always food left out – for any hungry Dwarf, Hobbit or faunt, Thorin paused at the entranceway to the sitting room at the sound of a shocked gasp and then muffled laughter.

He crept in and saw Bilbo and Oin in the cosy armchairs, glasses of golden-brown liquid held indolently in their hands and tears of joy streaming down their faces.

“He didn’t?!” Bilbo spluttered and sipped back some of the whisky.

“He did!” Oin guffawed. “Went sliding down the hallway, naked as the day he was born, covered in molasses, feathers and pig shit.”

“Oh, I think I’d like Dis.” Bilbo wiped a handkerchief, that already seemed damp, under his eyes and mopped up the tears from his cheeks.

“I’d fear for Thorin’s dignity. Oh, I haven’t told you about the time she took all his combs!” Oin said with no small amount of glee.

The elderly Healer had not missed Thorin’s entrance and he watched in amusement as the Broody King went pale before opening and shutting his mouth in shock.

Oin licked his lower lip and keeping eye contact with Thorin opened his mouth to begin telling Bilbo the story. Barely two words fell from Oin’s lips before Thorin lunged in and spluttering and stumbling over his words asked Bilbo what food he could have and if the Hobbit could make him something a bit more substantial to eat – after all Thorin had missed Afternoon Tea, Dinner and Supper.

Bilbo drunkenly stumbled into the kitchen, patting Thorin absently on the arm and Thorin didn’t miss the widening of Bilbo’s eyes and the hitch in his breath as Thorin flexed his muscles beneath his shirt.

Looking back at Oin, Thorin watched in horror as Oin winked slowly before coolly, calmly and with great aplomb threw back his whisky.

“Never mess with your Healer laddie.”

* * *

*Winter*Festival*

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! I hope you all have a fabulous holiday whether you celebrate Christmas or not!   
> I know that Christmas and the holiday isn't always a happy time for everyone for many reasons but please remember you aren't alone, there's always someone there for you.   
> Have a good holiday wherever you are and remember you aren't alone.

**Author's Note:**

> You may have noticed that I’ve fiddled with the ages slightly but I’m not going to confirm any particular age. Needless to say Samwise and Frodo aren’t actually born in the events of the Hobbit book but for the sake of this fic I’m making them roughly around 8-10 years old. Just because it works with the fic. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think and if anyone can tell me how I can tag Oin that would be great!


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